


Nova

by The_Creative_Muse



Series: The Few Who Remain [1]
Category: King Arthur (2004)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Canonical Character Death, Drama, F/M, Friendship, Lonely Tristan, Major Character Injury, Non-Canonical Character Death, Original Character(s), Romance, Sexual Content, Tragedy, relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-11
Updated: 2018-02-25
Packaged: 2019-03-16 14:46:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 12
Words: 27,514
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13638384
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Creative_Muse/pseuds/The_Creative_Muse
Summary: Nova is silent and scared when she is rescued from Marius' estate and only allows the two silent Knights near her. What will happen when she becomes close to Tristan leading up to the Battle of Badon Hill?





	1. Waking Up

"Lancelot!" Sir Gawain stood in the older knight's doorway, leaning casually against the door frame. "Come on, Lance, Arthur needs us at the stables!"

Hearing only a muffled response from a half-asleep Lancelot, Gawain shook his head and continued down the hallway, waking up each Knight in turn. After Sir Lancelot's room came Sir Bors', though the hefty Knight was only there when Vanora kicked him out of her tavern for excessive drinking. The next room was Sir Dagonet's and, lastly, Sir Tristan's. Sir Galahad had the room between Gawain's and Lancelot's, so he was already awake.

As Gawain opened the last door in the Knight's hall, it was no surprise to him that the room was empty. Tristan was always the first one up in the morning. Smiling at his own forgetfulness, Gawain turned to look down the hallway as all the Knights made their way out of their respective rooms.

Galahad trudged towards Gawain carrying his trusty sword, a glare plastered across his youthful face.

"This had better be important, Gawain!" He mumbled, angry at being awoken so early.

Gawain merely smiled and said nothing as the youngest of the Knights walked past him. Dagonet was the next to emerge and he followed Galahad down the stairs, giving Gawain a salute with his large ax in passing. Lancelot dashed into the hallway and rushed past Gawain, belting on his two short swords as he went. The last Knight came stumbling out of his room, holding a hand to his head and groaning.

"Come on, Bors!" Gawain urged, "No time to waste, Arthur needs us!"

Bors growled some unintelligible profanity in Gawain's direction and followed all the other Knights down the stairs, nearly falling headlong down them in the process. Letting out a huge sigh, Gawain went down the stairs, taking them three at a time in his haste. He reached the stables after everyone else, and found that Arthur had already begun explaining the plans for the day to Lancelot, Galahad, Dagonet and Bors. Tristan was nowhere to be seen, as was customary for the Scout.

"After we escort him here," Arthur was saying, "we will meet with him in the Great Hall and you should all receive your papers by this evening."

"Finally!" Bors growled.

"I've waited too long for this day." Lancelot commented, not quite looking at anything in particular.

"What are we standing around talking for?" Gawain queried as he joined the little group, "Let's get our horses and go!"

Arthur smiled, "I couldn't have put it better myself, Gawain!"


	2. The Actions of Companions

The hawk circled high above Hadrian's Wall, only a mere speck in the clear morning sky. A sharp whistle echoed in the stillness and the hawk answered with a piercing cry. Tucking its wings in close to its body, the hawk dove down towards the origin of the whistle, coming to rest on the outstretched arm of its friend and trainer.

The man stroked the hawk almost reverently, allowing a small smile to flit across his normally somber countenance. Sensing the presence of other people close by, the man turned and saw Arthur and five of his Knights riding out of the gate and heading in the direction of the main road. The six men were riding in a column, two wide, three long. Arthur and Lancelot were leading the little group with Dagonet and Bors coming after them and Gawain and Galahad bringing up the rear.

As they passed a small group of village women on the road, Lancelot flashed his award-winning, albeit, falsely bright smile at one of the girls. Galahad spoke up from the back of the column and the man with the hawk could only just catch the gist of what he said. Something about Lancelot needing to think about other things besides bedding women.

Lancelot put on a mock hurt expression and responded swiftly. "At least I get them!" He practically shouted at Galahad.

Galahad turned a dark shade of red and Gawain quickly put up a hand to interfere.

"Stop bickering, lads! Just because Lancelot gets more women to his bed, it doesn't mean he's any good in it!"

At this, all the Knights, save Lancelot and Arthur, burst into laughter.

Bors held a hand up to his forehead, still laughing along with the others. "My poor aching head!"

Lancelot refused to acknowledge the fact that anything was in the least bit humorous and glared daggers at Gawain and Galahad. Arthur merely smiled and looked across the field. He sighted the man with the hawk and raised a hand, beckoning the man to come towards them. The man let out a sigh that was only loud enough for the hawk to hear. Lifting his arm into the air, the man gave the hawk a little boost into the sky, watching as it soared over the field. Adjusting his curved sword on his back, the man whistled for his horse, using a lower whistle than the one he had used for the hawk. The horse, which was cropping grass some two hundred feet away, lifted its head and trotted over to its owner. The man mounted swiftly and nudged his horse in Arthur's direction.

\--------

"Ah, Tristan!" Arthur motioned to the silent scout to come closer. "I need you to scout on ahead and find out exactly where Bishop Germanus' caravan is."

Tristan nodded in reply, his braids covering his face momentarily. Turning his face away from Arthur, the scout let out a sharp whistle.

"Must you be so loud?!" Bors complained.

Tristan ignored the bigger man and turned his attention to the hawk that was coming to rest on his arm. He whispered something to the bird, which caused it to take off into the sky, flying high above the road.

Arthur looked at Tristan quizzically. "What was that all about?"

Tristan shrugged, "She will find them."

Bors snorted derisively, "As if your hawk's got the brain's enough to find a worm let alone a caravan!"

Both Arthur and Dagonet gave Bors warning looks, but the hung over Knight paid them no attention. Tristan ignored Bors' comment, completely shutting out the Knight's traditional argumentative morning state. Within ten minutes, the Knights heard a screech from above them, making Bors cover his ears. Instinctively, Tristan raised his arm and soon felt the familiar weight of the hawk resting upon him. The hawk made several muted noises, moving her head up and down or side to side, in response to Tristan's whispered queries. The scout released the hawk into the air, yet again, and faced Arthur. "Five miles."

Arthur nodded.

"Until what?" Galahad wanted to know. "Five miles until what, Tristan?"

"Until we reach the caravan, Galahad." Arthur replied for the scout, "We'll meet up with them five miles down the road."

"How can you so easily believe a bird?!" Bors interjected, his hangover getting the best of him. "Especially one that belongs to a man who is so stuck on himself that he hardly speaks a word to any human being, and who is so obsessed with killing!"

Immediately, the small column of Knights halted and all of them stared in shock at Bors. All of them except Arthur and Tristan. Arthur glared at Bors with obvious anger showing on his face; Tristan merely looked away, an unexplainable emotion darkening his brown eyes.

"Bors," Arthur began, his voice dangerously quiet. "I think–"

"I'll handle it, Arthur." Tristan interrupted, in a voice that was rough from disuse. He turned in his saddle to face Bors, his face now completely devoid of emotion. "You have no right to imply things about someone of which you know so little. You know nothing of my past or my reasons for hardly speaking to anyone. I only kill to defend myself and my friends and have been doing so since I was barely big enough to hold a sword. You, of all people, should understand that."

Tristan turned his horse sharply and rode off down the road, in the direction that Germanus' caravan was to arrive from.

"You owe Tristan a very big apology, Bors." Arthur told the large Knight, his anger still evident in his blue eyes. He trotted his horse after Tristan with Lancelot, Gawain and Galahad in his wake.

\--------

Dagonet stayed back with Bors, disappointment etched onto his rough features.

"How could you?" Dagonet asked after a moment of silence, "How could you say something so completely cold and heartless to Tristan of all people? Although we have spent these past fifteen years with Tristan, we know virtually nothing about him and we are the last men on earth who should judge him for his actions. I do hope that you listened closely to Tristan's words, Bors, he will not be so eager to speak so much again."

Bors made no comment; he only stared at the back of his horse's ears in silence.

"Most days I am proud to call you my brother, Bors." Dagonet continued, "Today is not one of those days."

Bors' bald head shot up and he stared open mouthed as Dagonet rode away to join Arthur.


	3. Running Out of Time

It was dark. So dark and so very cold. There was no fire, no source of warmth at all for any of the prisoners. The monks that ran the place, the ones that tortured 'in the name of God', forbid any type of comfort for the 'heathen rabble'. The fact that only three of the prisoners were still alive had escaped the monks' notice, so enveloped were they in their 'extermination'.

Guinevere shivered in the cold dampness of her cell. Her fingers had been bent in a grotesque direction and it pained her to move them, but she knew that she was better off than the other two prisoners. The other Woad who was in the cell on her right had a dislocated arm and the girl in the cell on her left had far more injuries than the two Woads put together.

"Guinevere?" A child's pained voice called out to her from the darkness.

"What is it, Lucan?" Guinevere called back to the boy whose cell was to the right of hers. "What is wrong?"

"They are coming."

Guinevere shivered again, but not from the cold. Every time the boy mentioned anything about the future it scared her a little. She would never completely understand how a boy of his young age (she guessed him to be about nine years old) had been gifted with Sight into the future. Guin shifted in her small cell, trying to look through the bars of her door to see what Lucan was talking about. 

"Who is coming, Lucan?" She asked after a moment of searching the dark hallway. "The monks?"

"No." The boy replied from the other side of the stone wall that separated the cells, "Not the monks. Other men, men like her."

Guinevere knew exactly who Lucan meant by 'her'. There was a girl imprisoned in the dungeon with Guinevere and Lucan, but she was not Woad like them. Guinevere always thought the other girl was Saxon, but the girl never said a single word about anything, ever. She was always silent when the monks took her out of her cell, silent when they tried to beat information out of her, and silent when they brought her back. The only time that the girl had ever spoken had been the day that she arrived. It had been scarcely three days after Guinevere and Lucan had been imprisoned that the other girl had been dragged in kicking and thrashing like a wild thing, refusing to be imprisoned willingly. She had been shouting at the Roman guards that had held her, shouting in some language that neither Guinevere nor Lucan understood.

But, once the girl had been locked in her cell, she shut her mouth and said nothing more except for one word to Guinevere. Guinevere had gotten curious about the new arrival whose cell was on her left and had asked her many questions. The only question that the girl answered was what her name was.

"Nova." That was all she said and then she returned to her silent self. 

Nova. Guin thought about the name. It certainly was not a Woad name or a Roman one, either. That left only Saxon. _Well, I suppose she could be from somewhere besides Britain,_ Guinevere thought, _I wonder why and how she came to be here. I do wonder what language she was speaking. It was not the language of the Woads, or the language of the Romans. If she is indeed Saxon, then we are better off to die here than being freed and killed by the Saxons that come to free her._

"Lucan?" Guinevere spoke quietly.

"Yes?"

"When are these men going to come?"

There was silence for a moment until broken by Lucan. "They will be arriving in three days to free us all."

"Are they Woad, Saxon, who are they?"

"That I did not See." Lucan's youthful voice was hoarse and strained. "We must rest if we are to survive until they come."

"Yes." Guinevere agreed with the boy, "That we must. Thank you Lucan."

Unbeknownst to the two Woads, Nova had crept closer to her cell's dividing wall, and had listened in on the entire conversation. She started at the sound of the monks coming down the hallway and shrank back into the farthest corner of her cell. The monks stopped at her cell and hauled her out, claiming to 'finally break the heathen'. As Nova was being pulled along the hallway, she looked back at Guinevere and Lucan and spoke to them in the Woad language.

"We are running out of time."

Guinevere and Lucan knew that they couldn't argue with the strange girl's words.


	4. A Word Called Trust

It took Arthur only a matter of minutes for him to catch up to his Scout.

"Tristan?" He called out cautiously.

The Scout slowed his horse, acknowledging Arthur's presence, but said nothing.

"Tristan, there was no call for Bors–" He broke off when he saw Tristan's face darken slightly.

Arthur looked at Tristan for a moment. The Scout's eyes conveyed what his shadowed face concealed. 'You're better than that, Arthur', the brown orbs seemed to say. 

"Fine then." Arthur conceded and rode ahead with Lancelot, Gawain and Galahad.

Tristan was about to turn all his attention to the task of scouting when he heard hoofbeats coming up behind him. Without turning to look, the Scout knew who it was, just from the heavy breathing of the rider's horse. The rider came up next to Tristan and turned his head toward the silent Scout.

"Listen, Trist." 

Tristan shook his head at the Sarmatian healer, and abruptly turned his horse's head. 

"I'm not going to apologise for my brother's actions, Trist." Dagonet reached out and quickly grabbed Tristan's horse's reins to hold him back. "I just wanted to tell you that I talked to Bors and he'll be apologising on his own before too long. He just needs to think it over and let his hangover wear off first."

Tristan inclined his head ever so slightly to show that he was listening.

"It's just that, well," Dagonet scratched his head, trying to think of the best way to say what he was thinking. "Bors doesn't understand. He can't comprehend not taking part in conversations, not openly enjoying yourself. Bors is a very friendly, outgoing sort and he can't seem to ever get along very well with someone who isn't. He just doesn't get it. He doesn't know what you've been through; none of us really do, but him least of all. And he doesn't see a need to have to listen to and take orders from someone who seems to hate life."

Tristan looked at Dagonet with a strange light in his normally dark eyes. "I do not hate life, yet I do not fear death."

"I know that, Trist," Dagonet assured the dark Knight. "But to someone who lives for the moment, like Bors, your dark, private, keep-to-yourself demeanor gets to him. He's gotten used to a little of that from me, but he still doesn't like it. I'm just telling you how it is with him, so you might better understand his actions."

Dagonet paused and smiled slightly, running a hand over his shaven head, "Although, from all the observing that you do on a daily basis, you probably figured that out a long time ago, didn't you?"

Tristan just shrugged noncommittally, though Dagonet could see the slight humour in his eyes. The Scout was never very talkative with anyone, but he seemed to open up a little to both Arthur and Dagonet.

"I'll leave you be now, Trist, expect Bors to talk to you tonight."

And with that parting comment, the healer of the Knights rode off, leaving the Scout to ponder in silence what had just transpired. 

\--------

The images that Bors' words had conjured up in Tristan's mind were not images that he wanted to remember. Death had been the Scout's constant companion since he had been young and it was nothing new to him to have people hate and fear him because of it. When Tristan had been only six years old, both of his parents had died of mysterious causes. At least, they had been mysterious causes to everyone but Tristan. Tristan, although he had been so very young, remembered every detail of his parents' death.

~~~~~

It had been an extremely cold winter in Sarmatia and it had turned many honest men into petty thieves. Famine does horrible things to those that are unprepared and causes them to do rash and sometimes horrible deeds to those that are prepared. Such was the case with Tristan's family. Tristan's father was, by preferred choice, a hunter and trapper and, consequently, he had enough meat and furs to care for his family throughout the entire duration of the harsh winter. When Spring was only about a month away, a threesome of apparently homeless and starving men came to Tristan's family's house seeking shelter from the weather. The men spent several days at the house, acting as pitiful and needy as they looked. But Tristan, even at age six, could tell that something was amiss.

Tristan had, after all, been trained by his father in the ways of reading people and situations and his naturally more quiet nature helped him to blend into the background and merely observe the actions of those around him.

It was the fourth night after the men had shown up and Tristan had just climbed up to the loft above his parent's bedroom to go to sleep. As the lanky boy lay there on his blankets, staring at the ceiling, he couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong. Hearing an unusual sound coming from the room next to him, Tristan quickly grabbed his bow and quiver, and quietly crawled through the rafters until he was above the main room.

"What is the meaning of this?" Tristan's father asked, his hand going instinctively to the curved sword at his waist. He was in the main room of his house and two of the three men that he had invited in and cared for had cornered him with drawn swords. He looked around quickly, almost frantically, but could not see his wife or young son anywhere.  
"What have you done to my family?"

One of the other men grinned wickedly, "We have done nothing, yet. But I would advise you to remove your hand from your sword."

The man motioned to the other. The only door that led outside was thrown open and Tristan's father stared in shock at the scene before him. His wife was being held by the third man who held a rusty dagger to her throat.

"Now," the first man took a step closer to Tristan's father. "We have a proposition for you. And it would be in your best interest, not to mention your woman's, to listen closely to what I have to say."

Tristan's father nodded curtly. 

"I'm listening." He said quietly, his brown eyes hiding his desperation and anger. He knew that his son had hidden himself somewhere, and he could only hope that it was a safe place.

"We're going to take anything we want from your home." The man stated, "Including your woman."

Tristan's father stiffened and his eyes lingered on his wife, "And what do you expect me to do, stand here quietly and let it happen?"

The leader let out an eerie cackle and pointed his sword at Tristan's father, "I expect you to do just that. And if you don't, then both your woman and that brat of yours will be killed right before your very eyes before you are also disposed of. What do you say to that?"

Tristan's father hung his head as if in defeat, but, had the other men been able to see his eyes...

"Well?" The leader was getting impatient.

"I...cannot." Tristan's father whispered.

"What? What did you say?"

Tristan's father raised his head and stared at the leader, a look of fiery vengeance seeming to flow from him. "I cannot." He repeated, his quiet voice echoing in the still room. "I cannot–I will not–just stand here and let you take everything that I hold dear." 

As his final words faded, Tristan's father drew his curved blade, and waited.

"You are more stupid than I thought!" The leader growled. He lifted his hand to signal to his men and several things happened at once. The man who held Tristan's mother slit the woman's throat and let her drop to the ground; Tristan's father let out an animal-like roar, easily dispatching the first man who came charging at him; the man who had killed Tristan's mother suddenly fell to the ground, an arrow between his eyes.

"Father!" But the warning shout came too late.

Tristan's father turned just in time to see a sword thrust into his chest. His eyes widened and he looked up, past the man who had stabbed him, at the figure of his son in the rafters.

"Tris...tan." He spoke in a harsh whisper. "Sho...ot..." He fell backwards, sprawled next to his dead wife.

Tristan had heard what his father had said and he had also seen what his father's charcoal eyes had conveyed to him. He raised his bow and sighted along his arrow with tear-filled eyes. 

"For my parents!" Tristan whispered through clenched teeth and released the string, watching as the leader of the men crumpled to the ground. The boy quickly slung his bow over his shoulder and hurriedly made his way down from the rafters and onto the ground.

"Father! Mother!" Tristan dashed towards his parents and knelt down at his mother's side, gripping her hand tightly.

"Sh-she's....go-ne...."

Tristan barely heard the words that came breathlessly from his father's mouth. He gently laid his mother's hand on her stomach and scuttled closer to his father. He stared down into the charcoal depths of his father's eyes, willing him to stay alive.

_If only for a little longer!_ He thought frantically.

"T-trist..." His father suddenly gripped Tristan's hand, and his words rushed out in a hoarse, barely perceivable whisper, "My son....find your Uncle....tell him your mother....and  
I got sick....trust him to care....for you..... promise me....promise me you'll go to him!"

Tristan nodded through the tears that poured unbidden down his face, "I promise, Father."

Tristan's father smiled briefly and gripped his wife's cold hand with his free one. "Live on....my son...." He uttered and his grip on Tristan's hand relaxed.

After a moment of silent grieving over his dead parents, Tristan stood and wiped his eyes, the knowledge of being completely and utterly alone burning in his mind. He dragged his parents' bodies to a deep ditch and rolled them into it, covering them with any loose stones that he could find, the ground being too cold for him to dig a proper grave. After that task was complete, young Tristan managed to pile the dead bodies of the three men in the yard and set fire to them. He watched the flames leap and dance with a completely passive expression on his face, his eyes dry. No more tears would come from him.

So he lived by himself until Spring was in full swing, and the weather decent enough to travel in, when his uncle and aunt suddenly showed up at his house. They soon came to realise that Tristan was all that was left, though the boy himself hardly spoke a word to them.

Tristan took what little belongings he had, which included his father's sword, and went to live with his uncle and aunt for the next three years of his life. He was treated as the household servant, doing whatever his uncle, aunt and younger cousin commanded and if he ever gave any sort of indication of disobeying, he was severely punished. But the boy took everything in stride, keeping any and all emotion locked up within him and spending as much time as he could on his own in the surrounding forest.

When Tristan was nearly ten years old an unknown illness struck his uncle's family and within three months his uncle, aunt and cousin were taken to the earth, leaving Tristan on his own once again.

At this point in his life, Tristan was used to taking care of himself and he preferred the peace and solitude of the forest and its creatures to whatever company his fellow humans might give him. He was looked upon as an outcast and as a "bad omen" and the majority of the village ignored him, making signs against evil whenever they saw him. None of the villagers had ever learned the truth of the passing of Tristan's parents and they believed that Tristan himself had called down the sickness that had struck his other relatives. They had no love for the lonely, strangely silent boy and he, in turn, had no love for them. 

Tristan lived by himself in the house that his uncle had left behind, using his bow and natural hunting instincts to catch any food that he needed. When his clothing and shoes wore out, he cut his uncle's extras down to size to fit him, though they still hung loosely on his small frame. Every day, rain or shine, the boy would take up his father's sword and practise with it. During this time, no wolf or any such predator came near the village and what the villagers didn't know was that their safety was due solely to Tristan's swordsmanship and bow skills. Tristan himself had no interest protecting the village or its human inhabitants; he only killed the wolves to perfect his weapon skills.

The autumn after Tristan turned twelve was the autumn that the Romans came. He knew that they were in the area long before anyone in the village got even the slightest inkling, but he paid the Romans no mind and didn't even bother to warn the villagers.

Let them find out when they may. He thought, starting to pack up his few belongings. They will be glad to see me go.

Within an hour the Romans rode into the village and the villagers themselves were in a mild state of panic. Mothers clung to their children, hiding in the darkened doorways of their houses, while the fathers stood outside, guarding their families and eyeing the Romans with little to no respect. The leader of the Romans looked around at the fearful villagers, his face creased in a permanent frown. There were only two boys who were supposed to come from this village, he hoped that they might be better than some of the others he had picked up. Continuing to look around the village, the Roman's gaze rested on the lone boy who stood in front of a small house at the edge of the trees. The boy's brown eyes held no emotion whatsoever; he merely stood there, holding a sword, a small bag of belongings, and a blanket, with a bow and quiver slung across his back, staring at the Romans.

"You, boy!" The Roman called to him, "Come here."

Making no sound on the freshly fallen leaves, the boy walked towards the Roman, coming to a halt ten feet away.

"Your name." The Roman commanded.

"Tristan." The boy replied in a quiet, rough voice.

"Where is your father?"

"Dead."

A slight flicker of emotion swept across the Roman's face, but was quickly erased and replaced by the man's usual calloused indifference. "Come with me." It was not a command but a request and Tristan recognised it as such, nodding once in reply.

"I had planned on it." He replied, only loud enough for the Roman to hear.

"Have you a horse?"

Tristan nodded again and whistled. A fine mahogany gelding came trotting up to him, nuzzling the boy's shoulder affectionately. Tristan lifted the blanket he had been carrying and arranged it on the horse's back, laying his bag across its shoulders. Untying a length of rope that was wrapped around him, he attached an end to each side of the horse's halter. He held the sword in his right hand and jumped up easily onto his horse's back one-handed.

The Roman looked at Tristan for a long moment, silently studying the slightly-built boy who sat so straight and easy on the horse. Tristan stared right back at the man, managing to mask the slight nervousness that he felt. The Roman looked away and swept his gaze around the village again. None of the other boys looked big enough or hardy enough, and they were all so young.

"Just this one will be enough." The Roman told the villagers.

A noticeable sigh could be heard and several villagers began voicing their opinions on the Roman's choice.

"Please, take him!"

"Rid us of that boy!"

"Prevent him from haunting us!"

The Roman scowled at the villagers and turned his horse, motioning for his men and the small group of boys, including Tristan, to follow him. They rode out of the village at a steady lope and the Roman called for Tristan to join him at the front of the group.

"Why does your village hate you so?"

"It is not my village." Tristan replied, "They do not understand."

"What?" The Roman asked, "What do they not understand?"

"Me."

The Roman was silent, thinking. After a few minutes he looked over at Tristan, nodding his head to the bow that was strapped across the boy's back. "Can you use that?" He asked.

Tristan nodded, "Would I carry it otherwise?"

The Roman couldn't help but chuckle. He was starting to like this boy, who reminded him of his own son back home. He thought for a moment longer, observing Tristan's every move and remembering the quiet boys actions back in the village.

"You will make a fine scout someday." He whispered, only loud enough for Tristan to hear.

Tristan merely shrugged but said nothing.

"You will learn to trust me, boy." The Roman commented, noticing Tristan's aloofness and unwillingness to talk.

"But will you learn to trust me?" Tristan asked in a barely audible voice.

~~~~~


	5. Woads, the Wall and Why?

The shout of "Woad!" from Gawain brought Tristan back to the present and he looked around quickly, taking in the scene at a glance. The Bishop's caravan was under attack. Five soldiers were already down from Woad arrows and at least fifty other Woads were beginning to stream from the surrounding forest. As the rest of the Knights, led by Arthur, charged down the hill to the Bishop's rescue, Tristan pulled out his bow and fitted an arrow to the string. Loosing that arrow, he fired three more in rapid succession, while galloping down the kill to catch up to his companions. He fired two more arrows just as he reached the battle and then glanced around him, taking in where all the other Knights were and what they were doing.

Lancelot had jumped off his horse and was fighting on the ground; Dagonet had jumped from his horse, falling into the nearby stream and taking two Woads with him; Arthur was still atop his white horse, fending off the Woads who surrounded him; Gawain cut his way to the Bishop's carriage and had only just reached it when a Woad suddenly landed in front of him on his horse. They fought desperately for a moment, falling off the horse and onto the ground and Tristan had only just found an opening to fire an arrow at the Woad, when Galahad rode by and did the honours himself.

 _The lad's good, when he puts his mind to it._ Tristan thought, as he fought off several Woads who had approached him. He easily dispatched those Woads and then dismounted and drew his sword in one swift movement. Two Woads charged at him, one from each side. He cut the first Woad in half and, using the momentum from the first swing, he turned the blade and took a step forward, decapitating the second Woad. The Scout waded into the sea of Woads, his sword seeming to have a life of its own, gracefully turning this way and that. A shimmering beacon of death to any and all Woads that it met its finely-sharpened edge.

Finally all the Woads had been killed, save one. Tristan watched, emotionless, as Arthur let that final Woad go and marched straight to the carriage.

"You make killing look so easy, Tristan." Galahad commented, riding up next to the Scout.

Tristan merely shrugged, wiping Woad blood from his sword and calling for his horse with a low whistle.

Arthur approached the carriage and reached for the curtain to look inside.

"Don't!" Bors spoke up, "It's a bloody mess!"

Arthur ignored him and looked anyway. There in the carriage sat a man dressed in finery, leaning up against the back wall. Everything about the man seemed natural except for the arrow stuck in his throat. Arthur stepped back from the carriage and glanced at Gawain.

"He's dead." Gawain stated, frowning, "I didn't come to protect a dead man."

"That's not the Bishop." Arthur replied, looking around at the remaining Roman soldiers. 

One of them, a slightly older man looked down at Arthur and smiled. "Arthur Castus!"

Arthur smiled back, "Bishop Germainus. Welcome to Britain. I see that your military skills still prove useful."

The Bishop laughed lightly and dismounted from his horse, "Old tricks, my friend." He looked around at the group of Knights, one eyebrow raised. "These are the great Sarmatian Knights?"

Arthur nodded and then motioned to the carriage where two soldiers were removing the dead man's body.

"Please, Bishop, we must get you to the Wall safely." He glanced uneasily out at the woods and called out, "Tristan, ride on ahead!"

Tristan nodded once and turned his horse away down the road.

Arthur walked with the Bishop to the carriage and held the curtain open for him. "We will protect you, Bishop." Arthur promised.

"I have no doubt, Arthur." The Bishop replied, smiling, "I have no doubt."

\-------------

A while later they reached the Wall and came to a stop in an inner courtyard. The Knights dismounted and a man came forward to gather up the horses.

"Jols." Arthur called to the man, "Leave the horses and lead the Bishop to my quarters."

Jols nodded and did as he bidden, letting the Knights care for their mounts. A short while later, after the Bishop had had a little time to get settled in, Jols came to escort him to the meeting room. The Bishop left the room first and his servingman stayed back to whisper instructions to Jols.

"When everyone is seated, my master must be seated last and at the head of the table."

"Your master can plop his holy ass wherever he chooses." Jols retorted and walked away down the hall after the Bishop.

They reached the meeting room and the servingman blanched. "A round table?!" He spluttered, looking with incredulity at Jols.

"Arthur says that for all men to understand each other, they must first be equal." Jols replied, hiding his smirk.

The servingman only stared at Jols for a moment before going to stand behind the Bishop's chair.

"I was given to believe that there were more of you." The Bishop commented, looking around at all the empty seats.

"We have been fighting here for fifteen years, Bishop." Arthur replied.

"Ah, that's right." The Bishop nodded, "Arthur and his Knights have served with courage, to maintain the honour of Rome's empire on this last outpost of our glory. Rome is most indebted to you noble Knights. To your final days as servants to the Empire."

"Day." Lancelot corrected, "Not days."

The Bishop only smiled and motioned for everyone to sit. After all the Knights were settled in their chairs, the Bishop continued. "The Pope's taken a special interest in you. He inquires after each one of you, and is curious to know if your Knights have converted to the word of Our Saviour or...?" He left the question hanging, looking at Arthur.

"They retain the religion of their forefathers." Arthur replied automatically, "I have never questioned that."

"Of course, of course. They are Pagans." The Bishop stated.

The Knights just looked at each other and either nodded accepting the fact or shrugged noncommittally.

"For our part, the Church has deemed such beliefs innocence." The Bishop continued, looking again at Arthur, "But you, Arthur, your path to God is through Pelagius?"

"He took my father's place for me." Arthur explained, "His teachings on freewill and equality have been a great influence. I look forward to our reunion in Rome."

"Ah." The Bishop had a look of slight surprise and disgust on his face which soon dissipated. "Rome awaits your arrival with great anticipation. You are a hero. In Rome, you will live out your days in honour and wealth." He paused, "Alas, we are all but players in an ever-changing world. Barbarians from every corner are almost at Rome's door. Because of this, Rome and the Holy Father have decided to remove ourselves from indefencible outposts such as Britain."

At this, all the Knights stood looking at each other, unbelieving, as the Bishop continued, "What will become of Britain is not our concern anymore. I suppose the Saxons will claim it soon."

"Saxons?" Arthur asked, surprised.

"Yes," the Bishop replied, nodding, "In the north a massive Saxon incursion has begun."

"The Saxons only claim what they kill," Lancelot pointed out.

"And only kill everything," Gawain added darkly.

Galahad stared at the Bishop incredulously, "So you would just leave the land to the Woads," he stated, "And I risked my life for nothing."

"Gentlemen," the Bishop skillfully changed the subject, holding up an opened wooden box that held six small scrolls, displaying them for the Knights, "Your discharge papers with safe conduct throughout the Roman Empire."

Galahad's eyes gleamed as he took in the full meaning of what the Bishop had said.

"But first," The Bishop kept going, "I must have a word with your commander. In private."

"We keep no secrets." Arthur told Germainus, who promptly slammed the box closed, the sound echoing around the room.

"Come." Lancelot told the other Knights, "Let's leave Roman business to Romans." He lifted his goblet, taking a sip and watching the Bishop the entire time.

"Let it go, Bors." Dagonet clapped his brother on the shoulder and walked out of the room with Tristan and then all the others. They made their way to Vanora's tavern, where most of them started drinking, making toasts to the end of their service to Rome.

"Anyone want a drink?" Vanora asked, coming up to the table where Lancelot was playing dice. 

Lancelot pulled her onto his lap and asked, "When are you going to leave Bors and come home with me?"

Vanora sighed, slightly exasperated, "My lover is watching you." She told him, slapping him rather lightly and standing up to pour drinks.

Lancelot just smiled at her and looked up at Bors, who stood glaring at him but couldn’t do anything because he was holding his youngest child.

Gawain and Galahad were having a knife throwing competition, using an upturned chair as a target. Gawain had already thrown his knife, it was stuck in the leg of the chair and now it was Galahad's turn. He sighted at the chair, aimed his knife and threw. The knife hit the chair leg four inches above Gawain's and Galahad smiled brightly, thrilled that he had actually hit the target. Suddenly a knife flew by on the left side of his head and embedded itself into the end of his knife's handle. Galahad whirled around and faced Tristan who was nonchalantly munching on an apple.

"Tristan...." Galahad began, shocked.

"How do you do that?" Gawain asked, genuinely curious.

Tristan took a bite of his apple and then used the apple to point at the target. "I aim for the middle." Was all he said.  
Before Gawain could reply, a chant began.

"Sing! Sing, Vanora, sing!"

"Alright, alright." Vanora consented and the crowd fell silent as she began.

"Land of bear and land of eagle  
Land that gave us birth and blessing  
Land that calls us ever homewards  
We will go home across the mountains  
We will go home, we will go home  
We will go home across the mountains  
We will go home singing our song...."

The Knights stood, or sat, transfixed by the power of the words that Vanora's clear voice sang to them.

"Hear our singing, hear our longing  
We will go home across the mountains  
We will go home, we will go home  
We will go home across the mountains..."

"Arthur!" Jols suddenly cried out, spotting their leader on the edge of the crowd.

"Arthur!" Some of the other Knights joined in raising the pitchers and goblets in Arthur's direction.

"You're not completely Roman yet, right?" Galahad asked.

Arthur said nothing, only waiting the the Knights to gather around him. Once they were all there he raised his voice and said.  
"Knights, brothers in arms, your courage has been tested beyond all limits."

"Yes!" Bors agreed.

"But I must ask you now for one further trial."

"Drink!" Bors suggested and he and Galahad laughed.

But Arthur ignored them, continuing with what he was saying, "We must leave on a final mission for Rome before our freedom can be granted."

Gawain, Galahad and Bors only laughed, not believing Arthur's words and still, Arthur continued on.

"Above the Wall, far in the north, there is a Roman family in need of rescue. They are trapped by Saxons. Our orders are to secure their safety."

"Let the Romans take care of their own." Bors broke in.

"Above the Wall is Woad territory." Gawain added.

"Our duty to Rome," Put in Galahad bitterly, "If it ever was a duty, is done. Our pact with Rome is done."

Bors spoke up again, "Every Knight here has laid his life on the line for you," he pointed at Arthur, "For you. And instead of freedom you want more blood? Our blood? You think more of Roman blood than you do of ours?"

"Bors!" Dagonet interjected, stopping his brother's ranting.

"We leave at first light," Arthur explained, "And when we return, your freedom will be waiting for you. A freedom we can embrace with honour."

"I am a free man!" Bors yelled, causing his baby to start crying. "I will choose my own fate!"

"Yeah, yeah," Tristan commented, still eating his apple, "We are all going to die someday. If it is death from a Saxon hand that frightens you, stay home."

Galahad glared at Tristan, his eyes blazing, "Listen, if you're so eager to die, you can die right now!"

"Enough!" Lancelot came between them and held Galahad back, "Enough."

"I've got something to live for!" Galahad finished, shaking with rage.

"The Romans have broken their word," Dagonet said, looking around at each of the Knights, "We have the word of Arthur. That is good enough." He turned to go and looked at his brother, "Bors, you coming?"

"Of course I'm coming!" He shouted, "Can't let you go on your own. You'll all get killed! I'm just saying what you're all thinking!"

He went and followed Dagonet and Tristan out of the Tavern and towards their rooms.

"And you, Gawain?" Arthur asked, almost afraid to hear his answer.

"I'm with you," Gawain told him, nodding and glancing at Galahad, "Galahad as well."

Galahad stood staring, open-mouthed at Gawain for a moment, before throwing his pitcher on the ground and storming off, followed by Gawain. Galahad marched to his room, unaware of anyone or anything around him, in his half-drunken rage.

"Galahad..." Gawain began, once they reached their rooms.

"No!" Galahad glared daggers at him, "Just no!"

He entered his room and slammed and locked the door behind him. He let out a long groan and collapsed on his bed, closing his eyes immediately.

"Why?" He muttered.

That was the last thing he thought as he fell into a troubled sleep.


	6. To the Estate

Early the next morning, the Knights all made their respective ways to the stables. Tristan was the first one there, as usual, with Galahad as a close second. The other Knights, including Arthur, showed up soon after and began sharpening swords and warming up their horses. The Knights paid no heed to the Bishop as he came in with his servingman.

"Horton," the Bishop began, clearing his throat in an attempt to get the Knights' attention, "Horton will accompany you on this journey as an ambassador from Rome."

The Knights stared at Horton, Bors shaking his head in disgust, but they said nothing.

"Jols," Arthur commanded quietly, "Find Horton a horse."

Jols nodded and walked off to get a horse, not even waiting to see if Horton was following. After everyone was ready, they set off, leaving the stables and then leaving the Wall altogether.

"It's looking to be a nice day," Galahad commented as the Wall disappeared behind them, "Hopefully it'll stay that way until we get back."

"I wouldn't count on it," Lancelot told him, glancing up at the clear blue sky, "It wouldn't surprise me if it was raining by tonight."

Galahad looked at him and shook his head, "You just have to ruin everything, don't you?"

"I'm only being realistic about it," Lancelot countered.

"Can't you be more optimistic?" Galahad asked.

Lancelot grinned, "Only if it's realistic optimism."

Galahad rolled his eyes as Lancelot rode up to Arthur laughing.

The rest of the day went quietly enough and as night started to fall, they came up to a forest. Tristan came back to the main group from scouting ahead.

"We need to go straight through," he told Arthur, "No stopping."

Arthur nodded and started forward, motioning for the others to follow. Clouds had been gathering slowly during the afternoon and as the group entered the forest the rain started to fall. Lightning flashed, briefly illuminating the forest path and the rain came down in a rush. The Knights kept on, regardless of rain, managing to keep their horses calm as thunder crashed around them. Horton jumped every time the lightning flashed, but he managed to keep up with the Knights, despite his growing fear. And then, as quickly as it had come, the rain stopped and they were out of the forest. They rode a bit further until they reached a much smaller group of trees and Arthur commanded them to stop.

"We'll stay here for the night," he told the Knights as he dismounted, "And we'll reach the estate in the morning. Gawain, first watch."

"See?" Lancelot commented to Galahad with a knowing smirk, "I told you."

Galahad just ignored him and wrung rain water from his cloak.

\-------------

Tristan was on watch in the morning when Arthur woke up. The leader of the Knights packed his things silently and then odd a ways from the rest of the Knights for his morning prayer. By the time he returned to the camp, all the Knights were awake and saddling their horses. They mounted up and ate breakfast as they headed out, Tristan riding point. Within minutes it began snowing. Lightly, but snow nonetheless. After about an hour's worth of riding, they broke out of the cover of a sparse forest and were immediately confronted with the enormity of the estate. Arthur rode up to the front of the group, leading them up to the gate.

Tristan looked around him as they walked their horses towards the gate, noting that all the servants, the villagers, the common people, were housed in dilapidated huts outside the wall, while the main house, Marius' mansion, was safely secured inside, with plenty of Roman guards to defend and protect it.

"Who goes there?" The call came out from the wall.

Arthur held up his hand to halt the Knights and looked up at the guard who had challenged him. "I am Arthur Castus. I come from Bishop Germanius."

An older-looking man, who was noticeably very well taken care of and dressed in typical Roman attire, suddenly made an appearance on the wall top, looking down on the Knights with obvious disgust.

"We have no need of you here," he told them with a falsely bright smile, "Be gone!"

Arthur stared up at the man, undeterred, "We have been sent here by the order of Bishop Germanius to escort Alecto to Hadrian's Wall."

The man stared back, "And what does the good Bishop need with my son?"

"The Pope wishes that Alecto come to Rome. You would be wise not to go against the Pope's wishes, Marius."

Marius scowled and nodded, "He will be out in a moment."

Arthur nodded in reply and then looked around at the villagers who had begun to crowd around. He noted how malnourished and pitiful they all looked, especially considering how much excess weight Marius had. As Arthur looked around, he spotted an elderly, bony, man chained by his wrists to a pole on the edge of the row of hovels. He scowled and dismounted from his horse, turning to the villager who was closest to him.

"Who is he? Why is he there?" Arthur asked, motioning to the chained man.

The villager hesitated and glanced around fearfully, swallowing before replying, "He's our village elder. He wasn't going along with everything that Master Marius wanted."

Arthur's scowl only deepened and he reached for his sword that was fastened next to his horse.

"Arthur!" Lancelot cautioned, but Arthur ignored his friend and pulled out his sword. He stormed over to where the old man was chained and brought his arm back. Ignoring the stares and murmurings of the villagers, Arthur swung his sword, breaking the chains that held the man up.

"Help this man!" Arthur shouted at the villagers, who all looked at each other, hesitant, "Help him!"

A few village women came forward to help and Arthur turned to the crowd.

"Now hear me," his voice carried, even though he spoke rather quietly, "A vast and terrible army is coming this way. They will show no mercy, spare no one. Those who are able should gather your things and begin to move south to Hadrian's Wall. Those unable, shall come with us." He turned to the village whom he had spoken to before, "You, what's your name?"

"Ganis, sir," the man replied.

"Ganis, get these people ready."

Ganis nodded and started to help the other villagers as Arthur went on his way, back to the horses. Barely fifteen minutes later, a row of mostly packed wagons were lined up on the road leading out of the estate. Tristan rode in from scouting and stopped his horse next to Arthur's.

"They have flanked us to the east," he reported, motioning with his hand in the respective directions, "They are coming from the south, trying to cut off our escape," he looked straight at Arthur, "They will be here before nightfall."

Arthur's jaw clenched, "How many?"

"An entire army."

"And the only way is to the south?" Arthur questioned.

The Scout shook his head, "East. There is a trail heading east across the mountains. It means we have to cross behind Saxon lines, but that is the one we should take." The Scout fell into his usual silence, waiting to hear Arthur's reply.

Drums suddenly sounded in the distance, echoing through the mountains. The villagers, Roman soldiers and the Knights all looked around nervously.

"Arthur," Lancelot spoke up, "We're never going to make it with all these people."

But Arthur wasn't listening. He and Tristan were both paying complete attention to the proceedings of two very bedraggled looking men who were being ordered by a pair of soldiers to block of an entrance to something. Arthur's scowl returned and he unsheathed his sword, dismounting from his horse. He marched straight for the soldiers, the Knights following to push them out of the way.

"What is this?" Arthur demanded of one of the men.

"You cannot go in there!" The man replied instantly, "It is forbidden!"

Arthur forced the man to move with the point of his sword, while Dagonet and Bors used their horses to keep a protesting Marius at bay. Arthur inspected the walled off entrance, looking it over carefully.

"Arthur, we have no time," Lancelot spoke up.

"Do you not hear the drums?" Galahad added.

Arthur glared at the blocked entrance and turned to Dagonet. Dagonet nodded once and dismounted pulling out his axe. He walked up to the blockade of stones and took his axe to it. Within moments, a wooden door was visible and Dagonet kicked it.

"Key?" Arthur asked one of the guards.

"It's locked," the guard replied, swallowing nervously, "From the inside."

Arthur frowned and looked back just as Dagonet broke through the door. Dagonet took a torch, Arthur took another and they descended into the darkness with Tristan and Gawain following.


	7. Rescue

“They are here,” Lucan’s strained voice could barely be heard, even in the tomblike silence of the dungeon, “Arthur is with them.”

Guin shuddered, but listened intently, her heart lifting slightly as she tried to hear for sounds of these men whom Lucan had Seen.

\--------

Arthur led Gawain, Dagonet and Tristan down underground, immediately covering his nose. The smell was horrible. He looked around and was disgusted to see torture devices and the sad remains of people chained to the walls. He could hear someone chanting, intoning a prayer of some sort in Latin and then he saw a man walking towards him. The man was dressed in rags, his dark, graying hair was to his shoulders and was matted horribly. He glared at Arthur and the other Knights with an insane light in his eyes.

“Who are these defilers of the Lord’s temple?” he demanded.

Arthur merely pushed past the man and looked around, shocked at what he was seeing. Dead and decaying bodies lay in holes and cages and hung from chains. Gawain looked to Arthur, who in turn looked around at everyone else.

“See if any are still alive,” he commanded them and they all began a search.

Tristan went on along the corridor, and into a different room. Dagonet began lifting grates off of holes and Gawain started cutting through chains, causing other grates to fall so he could see into other places.

“How dare you set foot in this holy place?” the man demanded, grabbing Gawain’s arm.

Without blinking, Gawain pulled out his sword and ran the man through, letting him fall to the ground. Arthur looked around the room. Nothing. No one was alive here.

“Arthur.” Tristan’s quiet voice called from the adjacent room.

Arthur responded to the summons immediately and stopped dead in his tracks when he entered the other room. Tristan was kneeling on the ground, holding an unconscious teenaged girl in his arms.

“By the gods,” Gawain whispered, looking over Arthur’s shoulder, “Arthur, there’s more.”

Dagonet walked into the room and went straight to a small cell. He knelt and looked inside at Lucan, who was shivering in the far corner. The healer stood and smashed the lock with his ax. He looked into the cell and offered his hand to the boy, who took it hesitantly. Dagonet pulled Lucan out and cradled him in his strong arms.

“You’ll be alright now, lad,” Dagonet assured the boy.

The boy only nodded.

Arthur looked into another cell. Guinevere stared back at him through bleary, pain-filled eyes. He stood and smashed the chain, opening up the woman’s cell and then helped her out, picking her up in his arms.

After doing a check around the room for any other survivors, Gawain led the small procession back outside. Arthur carried Guin, Dagonet held Lucan, and Tristan carried the other girl.

As they emerged from the dungeon, Arthur made an immediate demand for water and Horton came running up with a water sack. Guin looked up at Arthur, slightly scared, and he smiled at her.

“Don’t worry,” he told her as Marius’ wife came running over, “You’re safe now.”

Tristan carried the other girl over to where his horse was and wrapped her in his spare blanket.

“Stop this!” Marius suddenly shouted, “Stop what you are doing!”

Arthur stood. “What is this madness?!” he demanded.

“They are all pagans here!” Marius fumed.

“So are we,” Galahad interjected.

Marius only glared at him and continued, “They refuse to do the task God has set for them. They must die as an example.”

“Do you mean they refuse to be your serfs!” Arthur shouted back at him.

Marius looked at him, surprised, “You are a Roman, you understand. And you are a Christian,” he turned on his wife, who was kneeling next to Guinevere, “You! You kept her alive!” he swung his hand at her face, knocking her to the ground and then suddenly found himself wrenched off his feet by the front of his tunic. He looked up into the grim face of Gawain.

“How can you claim to be a Christian?” Gawain growled out between clenched teeth, “When you strike a woman who is doing more good than you ever could?”

Gawain pushed Marius back into several soldiers who were standing nearby and pointed his ax at the man. “You even think about touching her like that again and you will be dead before we reach the Wall.”

Marius stared, shocked, “She is my wife!”

“Could have fooled me,” Gawain spit out, turning to his horse and mounting up, purposely not looking at Marius’ wife.

Arthur got the villagers to wall the remaining ‘monks’ back into their dungeon and they were only too willing to oblige. Once Guin, Lucan and the still unconscious girl were carefully loaded into a wagon, the entire group started out. Tristan rode point, while the villagers and the rest of the Knights followed behind.

Lancelot rode alongside Arthur, a permanent scowl on his face.

“Lancelot, what’s bothering you now?” Arthur asked.

“We’re moving too slow,” Lancelot replied angrily, jerking on his horse’s reins a bit too harshly to keep it on track, “The girls aren’t going to make it and neither is the boy. The family we can protect, but we’re wasting our time with all these people.”

“We’re not leaving them,” Arthur stated flatly.

Lancelot sighed, “If the Saxons find us we will have to fight.”

“Then save your anger for them.”

Lancelot stared at Arthur, his commander and best friend, trying to discern exactly what Arthur was thinking. “Is this Rome’s quest?” he asked after a moment, “Or Arthur’s?”

Arthur only stared at him for a moment before looking away, not answering.

Lancelot muttered some choice words under his breath and kicked his horse forward.

The caravan continued on in relative silence, the falling snow making it gradually harder for the wagons. Arthur rode up to the wagon that carried Guin and the other two they’d rescued, dismounting from his horse and entering.

“Arthur,” Dagonet acknowledged him as he came in.

“How is he?” Arthur asked, motioning to Lucan.

Dagonet looked at Lucan, who was barely conscious, “He burns and his arm is broken. Brave boy.”

Arthur nodded, noting Dagonet’s smile, and made his way to the rear of the wagon to where Guinevere lay. He knelt next to her, taking in her dirty, weary and yet somehow wildly beautiful features. He reached out to her and she cringed away from him, eyes wide, scared.

“I will not hurt you,” he whispered.

She just stared and then slowly, very slowly, extended her bandaged hand towards him, still remaining silent.

Arthur frowned slightly, gently took her hand in his and began carefully unwrapping the bandages. Once all the bandages were removed, he could see how disfigured her hand was. He ran his fingers lightly over hers and then looked into her pain-filled eyes.

“Some of your fingers are out of place,” he told her, “I have to push them back.”

Guin blinked, but remained silent.

Arthur took a deep breath and, as gently as he was able, began to push on one of her fingers. She tried to pull her hand away, but he wouldn’t let it go.

“If I don’t do this, there’s a chance you may never use that hand again,” he informed her.

Her jaw clenched and she sat up, looking at him defiantly.

Again, Arthur began pushing on her finger and she stifled a cry when it popped back into place. He pushed rest of her fingers back to how they were supposed to be, despite her cries, and then held her for the brief moment she allowed him to.

“They tortured me,” she whispered hoarsely, looking up at him, “With machines. They’d make me tell them things that…” she paused and shuddered, “that I didn’t even know to begin with.”

Arthur frowned, but didn’t interrupt her.

“And then,” she continued, “I heard your voice in the dark. I am Guinevere. You are Arthur.”

“I am,” Arthur admitted, “But, what about the other girl? What happened to her?”

“They did even worse things to her,” Guinevere told him, looking at the unconscious teenager with a sad light in her eyes, “Things I’ll never speak of. She sacrificed herself so many times to help the boy and myself.”

Arthur stared at the girl for a moment before looking back at Guin, “What is her name?”

“I’ll not tell you,” Guin shook her head, her eyelids fluttering tiredly, “That is for her to say and no one else.”

Arthur nodded and gently laid Guin on the pile of furs, “Rest, Guinevere, you’re safe here.”

A smile flickered across her face as she drifted off to sleep. Arthur watched her for a moment and then left the tent and mounted his horse, riding up closer to the front of the group. After a few minutes of riding alone, Lancelot came up beside him, but then left just as quickly when he caught Arthur glancing back at Guinevere. Arthur sighed and turned his horse back towards the cart which carried Guin and the others they’d rescued.

“My father told me great tales of you,” Guinevere told him as he came riding up.

“Really?” Arthur asked, “And what did you hear?”

“Fairy tales,” she said, smiling, “The kind you hear about people so brave, so selfless, that they can’t be real. Arthur and his Knights. A leader both Briton and Roman. And yet, you chose your allegiance to Rome; to those who take what does not belong to them. That same Rome that took your men from their homeland.”

“Listen, lady,” Arthur almost glared at her, “Do not pretend you know anything about me or my men.”

“How many Britons have you killed?” she asked.

“As many as have tried to kill me,” he retorted, “It’s the natural state of any man to want to live.”

“Animals live!” she argued, “It’s the natural state of any man to want to live free in their own country,” She paused and then said quietly, “I belong to this country, where do you belong, Arthur?”

Arthur didn’t answer her; instead he just glanced at her and asked, “How’s your hand?”

Guin smiled, “I’ll live, I promise you.”

He just nodded and looked away.

After a moment of silence, she asked, “Is there nothing about my land that appeals to your heart? Your own father married a Briton. Even he must have found something to his liking.”

Again Arthur didn’t answer. He turned his horse and rode closer to the front, up with Lancelot. Another rather lengthy amount of time passed and soon the signs of a battle began to show. Bodies frozen from the falling snow were strewn about alongside the road. The horses shied away and Lancelot made a face.

“Saxons,” Arthur told him and then kicked his horse into a gallop, Lancelot right behind him.

Arthur and the Knights lined up along the road and Arthur pointed to a grove of trees, “We’ll sleep here. Take shelter in those trees,” he looked at Tristan and nodded.

“You want to go out again?” Tristan asked Hawk, who nodded her head. He gave her a boost and she flew off. The Knights all rode off to their duties and the caravan arrived in the trees within a matter of minutes. Everyone set up their own little spaces within the campsites and Dagonet made a bed for Lucan next to his own.

“Are you alright, lad?” he asked the boy.

Lucan nodded. “Watch Marius,” he whispered and then drifted off to sleep.

All the Knights, save Arthur and Tristan, sat around one of the two campfires that had been made, warming their hands and talking amongst themselves.

“I still don’t understand why we had to waste our time to save their bloody necks!” Bors was complaining.

“They were innocents being tortured, Bors,” Gawain spoke up, “They deserved to be freed.”

“But they’re damn Woads! All three of them!”

“Only two,” Tristan’s quiet voice broke the silence after Bors’s outburst, “Only two are Woads.”

Galahad looked up at the Scout, from where he sat on a log, “Which one’s not?”

“The other girl,” Tristan replied, walking into the firelight and taking a seat next to Galahad, “Guinevere and the boy are Woad, but the other girl is far from it.”

“What’s her name?” Lancelot asked.

Tristan shrugged, “She will tell in time.”

“But she’s not even awake yet,” Bors interjected, “How can you know that she’s not a Woad?”

The Scout looked at him, “I know.”

“You forget, brother,” Dagonet spoke up, looking at Bors. “Tristan reads people better than any of us.”

Bors snorted and muttered something about not wanting a killer to read anything.

“What is she if not a Woad, Tristan?” Gawain asked, curious, “She’s certainly not Roman.”

“Or Saxon,” Galahad added.

Tristan was paying attention to a small carving in his hands.

“What’s that?” Bors demanded, pointing to the carving.

Tristan didn’t reply, just turned the carving over and over in his hands.

“May I look at it, Trist?” Dagonet asked.

Tristan nodded and tossed him the carving, pulling out an apple from the depths of his clothing and cutting a large piece off with his knife.

“It’s Sarmatian,” Dagonet told them and looked to Tristan, “Did you make this?”

The Scout shook his head, “It belongs to her.”


	8. Meet the Saxons

Silence reigned after Tristan’s quiet explanation, complete silence except for the sound of the Scout munching on his apple.

“She’s a what?!” Bors practically yelled, shocked.

“You heard him, brother,” Dagonet said, looking up from the carving in his hands.

Gawain looked at Bors, and Dagonet could see a smirk on his face, “Aren’t you glad we saved her now, Bors?”

Bors spluttered something unintelligible and then stood up, “I need a drink,” he muttered and went off to find his saddlebags.

Lancelot laughed and Dagonet looked at him, raising an eyebrow, “Is something funny, Lancelot?”

Lancelot shook his head, smiling, “I just think it’s rather entertaining, Bors’s reactions to things,” He stood and yawned, “I’m going to sleep now,” he smiled suddenly, “Remind me to talk to that girl tomorrow.”

Tristan narrowed his brown eyes at Lancelot and bit rather viciously into his apple, but remained silent.

“You’ll not go near her, Lance,” Dagonet told him, “Tristan’s the one who found her and I’m the only healer, therefore you have no reason to approach her for anything.”

Lancelot snorted, “You two just don’t like letting me have any fun.”

“Go on, Lance,” Dagonet waved him off, “And leave the women alone.”

Lancelot laughed and went off to his bedroll.

Gawain and Galahad wandered off to their own beds leaving Dagonet and Tristan on their own by the fire.

“I feel sorry for them,” Dagonet commented after a few minutes of silence.

Tristan looked at him, taking a bite of his apple and waiting for the healer to keep speaking.

“They don’t understand,” Dagonet continued, “They overlook so many things and when someone else, someone more perceptive to the little things, mentions something they didn’t notice, they ostracize them.”

Tristan stared at Dagonet for a long moment and then slowly nodded, taking another bite of his apple.

Dagonet smiled slightly and stood, “You know I actually care what you have to say, when you choose to speak, Tristan. Arthur cares about all of us more than he’ll openly show,” he dropped the girl’s carving into Tristan’s hand, “Try and get some sleep tonight, Trist, I know it doesn’t come easily to you, but try.”

A very brief smile flickered across the Scout’s face as he looked from the carving in his hand to his friend’s face.

“Goodnight, Trist,” Dagonet walked over and settled down in his bed, keeping his sword at hand.

Sometime around midnight a very slight noise caught Tristan’s attention. The Scout, who had remained at the fireside long after the others had gone to bed, stood and drew his bow, nocking an arrow to its string. That was when he saw her. Guinevere was walking nearly silently at the edge of the camp. She passed by Arthur and he woke with a start, standing to follow her into the surrounding trees. Tristan watched them for a moment before deciding to follow at a safe distance. His bow was still drawn; something didn’t quite sit right with him.

Tristan watched as Guinevere led Arthur a ways into the woods and then stopped in a small clearing. The Scout could see that Arthur looked slightly confused as he approached Guinevere. Arthur opened his mouth to say something when there was a brief rustle amongst the trees. He jumped back, drawing his sword; Tristan, hidden in some shrubbery, aimed his bow at the man who suddenly appeared. It was Merlin.

“You betrayed me,” Arthur accused Guinevere.

“He means you no harm,” she replied calmly.

“Peace between us this night, Arthur Castus,” Merlin called out to Tristan’s Commander and started down the slight incline, coming closer to Guinevere and Arthur.

Tristan kept his bow aimed for Merlin’s heart, even as he noticed how apprehensive Arthur had become.

“So Rome is leaving, the Saxon has come,” Merlin continued speaking, “The world we have known and fought for is ended. Now we must make a new world.”

“Your world, Merlin, not mine,” Arthur’s sword didn’t waver as he pointed it towards the old Woad, “I will be in Rome.”

“To find peace?” Merlin asked, “The Saxons will come to Rome.”

“My Knights trust me not to betray them to their enemy,” Tristan could hear the authoritative tone in Arthur’s voice.

“Rome was my enemy,” the old man replied, “Not Arthur. We have no fight between us now.”

“You tell that to the Knights you killed before my eyes,” Arthur spit out bitterly, “whose bones are buried in this earth.”

“We have all lost brothers,” Merlin told him quietly.

“You know nothing of the loss I speak!” Arthur shouted. Tristan could hear his Commander take a deep breath and continue speaking, his voice quavering ever so slightly, “Shall I help you remember? An attack on a village. The screams of an innocent woman. Your men attacked my village, walled my mother into our own house and lit it on fire. I called out her name, but she couldn’t hear me, so I did the only other thing possible. I ran to the burial mound of my father to free her,” he glared at Merlin, placing the tip of his sword at the Woad’s throat, “To kill you. With my father’s sword in hand I ran back into our village, only to see that every Woad had gone and our house was all but destroyed. I feel the heat of that fire on my face even now.”

Tristan lowered his bow, eyes wide, his face showing emotion for the first time in many years. He’d had no idea what Arthur had gone through, just like none of the other Knights knew what he had gone through. _You and I are not so different after all,_ the Scout thought to himself.

“I did not wish your mother dead,” Merlin said to Arthur, “She was of our blood, as are you.”

“If you were so determined to leave us to slaughter,” Guinevere spoke up, looking at Arthur, “why did you save so many?”

Arthur didn’t answer and Tristan could see the confusion and indecision on his Commander’s face. He watched as Arthur lowered his sword.

“My men are strong, but they have need of a true leader,” Merlin explained, “They believe you can do anything. To defeat the Saxon we need a master of war,” The old Woad walked over to stand beside Guinevere, pointing to Arthur’s sword, “That sword you carry is made of iron from this earth, forged in the fires of Britain. It was love of your mother that freed the sword from your father’s grave, not hatred of me. Love, Arthur.”

“It is your destiny,” Guinevere spoke up again.

“There is no destiny,” Arthur retorted, “Only free will.”

“And what of the free will of your Knights?” Merlin asked as Arthur started to walk away, “Did they die in vain?”

As Arthur stopped in his tracks, Tristan could see his shoulders shaking slightly, but his Commander remained silent, refusing to answer, and trudged back to the camp.

Tristan remained in the trees, wanting to watch Guinevere and Merlin. Once Arthur was out of sight, Merlin embraced Guin, murmuring, “I thought I’d lost you, daughter.”

Tristan could see her smile as she replied, “I never gave up hope that I would be rescued.”

Merlin suddenly looked up, straight into Tristan’s eyes, “Come out into the moonlight, sir Scout.”

Tristan stepped out from the trees, still holding his bow at his side. He kept his distance from the two Woads, eyeing Merlin suspiciously.

“Arthur couldn’t have chosen a better man to be his Scout,” Merlin commented as he took in Tristan’s appearance and attitude, “I understand your silence and I commend you for making it this far. Yours is not a life chosen by many, but you do well.”

Tristan just stared at him, standing lightly on the balls of his feet, like a deer ready to run at the slightest hint of danger.

“I have plans to attend to, daughter,” Merlin told Guinevere, taking a step back, “I will see you again soon.”

Guinevere and Tristan both watched Merlin disappear into the trees.

“Why do you not speak?” Guin asked Tristan after Merlin was gone.

Tristan gave her a sidelong glance as he put his arrow back into its quiver, but stayed silent.

“I know you are able to speak,” she told him, “yet you choose not to. Why?”

“I am beneath them,” the Scout stated simply, “They have no need to listen.”

Guin stared at him, “You are above them, Sir Tristan, so far above them. You know so much more than you give yourself credit for. You watch everything around you and, if you so chose, you could easily be the talk of the country. Don’t let how others treat you define who you are.”

The Scout looked at her, truly looked at her for the briefest of moments, and then turned away and walked off, silent as ever.

Guinevere frowned and made her way back to the cart where her bed was.

\--------

Tristan was the only one to watch the sun rise the next morning. The sky was lit brightly with various shades of red, orange, and yellow and he looked at Hawk, who was perched on his arm.

“Bad omen, girl,” he whispered, “There is a red sky this morning.”

The Scout turned and looked down at the camp from the small hill he was on. Hawk started squirming just as Tristan noticed movement from some of the Roman soldiers in the camp. About half a dozen of them were making their way towards where Dagonet and Lucan were sleeping. Tristan let Hawk fly. As much as he wanted to see what was going on in the camp, he knew he had a scouting job to do. He mounted his horse and rode off through the trees.

Dagonet was jerked from his sleep by several Roman soldiers who pulled him to his feet none too gently.

“No!” Lucan yelled as the soldiers began to strike at Dagonet.

But Dagonet started fighting back. The healer knocked down two of the soldiers and then pulled out the knife that he always had in a small sheath on his thigh. But it was already too late.

“I have the boy!” Marius shouted. He had his arm around Lucan and a knife to the boy’s throat.

Marius’s wife and son stared in horror, unsure of what to do.

“Kill him!” Marius shouted at the soldiers, “Kill him now!”

The soldiers began closing in on Dagonet, who was looking around, baffled.

“No! Don’t do this!” Marius’s wife ran towards her husband, trying to make him let go of Lucan.

Marius just pushed her roughly aside where Gawain caught her, preventing her from falling.

Just then an arrow came flying from the trees, hitting Marius in the chest. He let go of Lucan and fell back, staring at the arrow as his eyes darkened. Lucan ran straight to Dagonet as soon as he was able and Dagonet gently pushed the boy behind him, reaching for his sword. 

“Stay down, Lucan,” the healer told the boy.

The soldiers were hesitant now that Marius was dead and as Lancelot, Gawain, Galahad, and Arthur came up, they lowered their swords slightly. That was when Dagonet noticed the figure standing in the trees.

There she stood, longbow in hand, another arrow ready on its string. Her mouth was set in a grim line, her pale face showing no emotion whatsoever.

“Artorius!” Bors’s shout echoed around the campsite as he came galloping in. “Do we have a problem?” Bors demanded of the soldiers, edging his horse closer to them, his ax in full view and ready to be used.

“You have a choice,” Arthur told the soldiers, pointing his sword at them, “You help or you die.”

One of the soldiers dropped his sword and then looked around at the others, “Drop your weapons.”

They hesitated.

“Drop them!” the soldier shouted.

The other soldiers obeyed this time, all of them tossing their swords into a pile. Jols went through and gathered up all the weapons just as Tristan rode up.

“How many did you kill?” Bors asked the Scout.

“Four,” Tristan replied. He stopped his horse in front of Arthur and dropped a Saxon crossbow at his Commander’s feet, “Armor piercing,” he told Arthur.

“They’re close, then,” Gawain spoke up, “We have no time.”

“You ride ahead,” Arthur commanded Tristan.

The Scout nodded and was about to ride off when he noticed the figure in the trees. The two stared at each other for a moment; the silent Scout and the grim archer. Something indiscernible flickered in Tristan’s brown eyes and he kept eye contact for just a moment longer before riding off to scout ahead.

As the other Knights went off to get the villagers moving, Dagonet walked up to the figure.

“Are you sure you’re well enough to be out?” he asked her.

She just stared at him and nodded once, strands of her long black hair falling in front of her face.

“You saved my life,” he told her, “I have no way of repaying you.”

“You already have,” she informed him quietly, “You rescued me.”

Dagonet shook his head, “I did not. Tristan did.”

She looked at him, tilting her head to the side.

“The Scout,” he explained, “The one with the hawk, he’s the one who rescued you.”

She nodded and then looked around at the camp.

Dagonet reached out to lightly trace a scar on her forehead and she flinched away from his hand, taking a step away and eyeing him distrustfully, much like a captured wild animal.

“What’s your name?” the healer asked.

She looked at him with a bright green gaze, “Nova.”

“Well, I’m glad you’re doing better, Nova, but you should get back to the cart, we’re about to head out.”

Nova nodded once and started walking towards the wagon. Dagonet watched her walk away for a moment, wondering how she’d come to be in Britain. He felt a tug on his sleeve and looked down at Lucan.

“She’ll get used to people,” the boy told him, “It’ll take her a while but she’ll open up more.”

Dagonet knelt in front of Lucan and looked him in the eye, “How do you know that, Lucan?”

Lucan blinked once and looked at Dagonet with his sky blue eyes, “I can See the future,” he replied quietly, “But I don’t tell many people that.”

Dagonet smiled, “I have nothing against that, Lucan. It’s a gift for you to use to the best of your ability. Use it for good and no harm will come of it.”

Lucan smiled back and impulsively hugged the healer, “Thank you… for everything,” he whispered.

Dagonet stood up, lifting Lucan in his arms and sat him on his horse, “You are more than welcome, Lucan.”

The healer cleaned up what little belongings he’d brought, packed them onto his horse and then swung up behind Lucan, kicking his horse towards the other Knights.

Nova was almost to the wagon when she heard a low cry from Hawk. She looked up just in time to see the bird drop something small. She caught it instantly and stared at it. It was her carving. The girl looked up at the bird, who was now perched on a nearby branch.

“Why?” she asked quietly.

Hawk ruffled her wings, giving the impression of a shrug, and then took off, soaring back to her friend the Scout.

Nova watched the bird for a moment and then turned back to the wagon and climbed inside, going to sit in the darkest corner where no one would bother her. She clutched the carving in her hand, running her thumb over the intricate grooves. She’d thought she’d lost it but now she had it back. Why had he given it up? And why had he even taken it to begin with. She had no memory of anyone ever taking it from her. She frowned ever so slightly and looked out through a crack in the wood, paying attention to everything she could see.

The entire group started forward, along the road and within minutes they reached a large frozen over lake. Nova heard the command to halt and she peered out of the wagon. The Knights were all riding forward, talking about crossing the ice. Soon enough the command was given to everyone to get out of their wagons and spread out across the ice. Everyone obeyed, but the going was slow and the horses were nervous. About two-thirds of the way across the ice, drums started to sound, making the horses even more nervous. The drums echoed off the surrounding trees and hills. 

Nova watched as Arthur called the group to a halt and she listened closely. It sounded as though all the Knights were staying to fight the approaching Saxon army. She reached for the bow she’d borrowed and the quiver and made her way out of the wagon. Glancing back she could see Guinevere following her out with her own bow and quiver.

“But you’re seven against two hundred!” Ganis objected.

Guin and Nova looked at each other and Nova nodded. “Nine,” Guinevere spoke up as she and Nova walked up to the Knights, “You could use two more bows.”

Arthur looked at them both and nodded, “So be it.”

“Dagonet,” Lucan looked down at the Knight who had just dismounted, “You can’t stay.”

“Why not, Lucan?” the healer asked.

“You’ll be killed,” the boy replied in a whisper.

Dagonet stared at him and then whispered back, “If my death saves Arthur and the rest of you, then I will go willingly.”

Lucan glanced over at Nova and then looked back at Dagonet, “As long as she stays, you all should be fine.”

Dagonet nodded, “Take care of my horse now, Lucan, I’ll be only a few minutes.”

Lucan managed a smile as Jols led the horse away with him atop it. The caravan moved out, going the only safe way they could and leaving the Knights, Nova, and Guinevere behind.

Dagonet picked up his own bow and stood in a line with the others, waiting for the Saxons to come.

“Hold until I give the command,” Arthur told them.

The Saxon army was in full view now and Dagonet glanced around him at his friends, his brothers. His gaze stopped briefly at Nova and he allowed a small smile to appear on his face. The girl had strength; that much was certain. He looked away when she caught him looking at her and he took a deep breath. If he was going to die, as Lucan had said, he wasn’t going to go down without a fight. The healer only hoped that he would be able to save all the others in the process.

The drums stopped and the Knights waited for Arthur’s command.


	9. The Fight to Return

The Saxon army was just across the lake from the Knights, and Dagonet could see one of the Saxons step forward from the army. The Saxon raised a bow and fired off an arrow. Dagonet watched as the arrow hit the ice approximately halfway between the two groups.

“I believe they’re waiting for an invitation,” Arthur commented, “Bors, Tristan.”

“They’re far out of range,” Guinevere objected.

Arthur just looked at her and Dagonet smiled. 

“Just watch,” the healer told her quietly.

Bors and Tristan pulled back their loaded bows and let their arrows fly. Tristan, having fired off four arrows at once, watched with grim satisfaction when four Saxons fell to the ground, transfixed with his arrows.

Then the Saxon army started forward and all the Knights, Guinevere, and Nova raised their bows.

“Aim for the wings of the ranks,” Arthur commanded, “Make them cluster.”

They fired off their arrows at the right flank and nine Saxons fell dead. The Saxons on the right side moved closer to the middle, and Dagonet guessed they were afraid of getting shot like their companions. After firing off only four more volleys at both flanks of the Saxon army, Arthur tossed his bow aside.

“It’s not going to break,” Arthur told them, “Back, fall back.”

The Knights picked up their extra arrows and other weapons and started moving back.

Arthur drew his sword, “Prepare for combat.”

All the Knights followed suit, pulling out their weapons of choice, while Guinevere, Nova, and Tristan held onto their bows. They stood, waiting, and Dagonet decided to take matters into his own hands. He dropped his sword, grabbed his ax and ran forward, shouting obscenities.

“Dag!” Bors yelled after his brother, but Dagonet wasn’t listening. The healer stopped closer to the Saxons than to his friends and began striking at a crack in the ice with his ax.

“Cover him!” Arthur shouted.

Nova, Guin and Tristan all fired off arrows, keeping the Saxon archers at bay, though only momentarily. One of the Saxons managed to get an arrow in Dagonet’s side, but still the healer kept on, ignoring the pain.

\--------

Tristan saw Dagonet rushing the ice, Saxon archers obviously noticing the big Knight as well. Muttering curses under his breath, Tristan fired one last arrow before grabbing Dagonet’s shield that he’d left behind. As he ran toward Dagonet, he heard shouting from behind him, but decidedly ignored it. Once he reached Dagonet, Tristan held the shield in front of the other Knight, protecting him from the continuous barrage of Saxon arrows.

A low rumble sounded beneath his feet and Tristan felt the ice beginning to crack around him. Saxons began to fall through the newly opened cracks, slipping into freezing watery depths that silenced their cries. Soon, only a handful of Saxons were left and they were in a mad scramble back in the direction they had come from. 

Tristan felt himself slipping toward the water but strong hands pulled him away. He looked up to see Bors and the Sarmatian girl helping him and Dagonet away from the water and toward the shore. A twinge of pain in his side surprised him and he pressed his hand to the pain. It came away red. In the midst of protecting his friend, Tristan hadn’t even noticed that he himself had been injured.

“Hang on, Tristan,” Bors’ voice sounded far away, echoing, “We’ll get you and Dag taken care of.”

\--------

As Nova and Bors carried the two injured towards the other Knights, Nova glanced over at Tristan, wondering what made him want to help Dagonet so badly. She could see a slight hint of worry in the Scout’s brown eyes and she stared at him, curious.

Tristan looked up and stared right back. His brown gaze seemed to be accusing her, as if she’d been listening in on some private conversation that wasn’t meant for her ears. His eyes were soon drifting out of focus, blood creating a bigger ring around the bit of arrow that still protruded from his side.

Nova watched him for a moment longer and looked away, focusing on not slipping on the ice beneath her feet. She was still very curious about Tristan, and Dagonet, too, for that matter. Most men she had known would do anything to save themselves; they wouldn’t sacrifice their own lives to save others.

Once they reached the wagons, Fulcinia, Marius’s widow, came rushing out and helped them to get Dagonet into one wagon and Tristan into another. Guinevere climbed into the wagon with Dagonet and she and Fulcinia began to minister to the big Knight’s wounds.

The rest of the Knights mounted up and the caravan was ready to move out.

“You should ride out here, girl,” Gawain told Nova.

Nova shook her head, pulling herself up onto the back of the cart where Tristan was.

“Well, fine then,” Gawain couldn’t help but smile at her.

“Thank you, Nova,” Bors spoke up as he rode up to them, “You saved my brother’s life again. He owes you double now. We all owe you.”

Nova shook her head, “You owe me nothing.”

“But you saved my brother’s life!” Bors exclaimed.

“And you all saved mine,” Nova countered quietly.

Gawain looked at Bors, “Let it be, Bors, you’re fighting a losing battle with this one.”

“Fine,” Bors grumbled, “But thank you just the same.”

Nova just nodded and watched Bors ride forward. Why were they all paying so much attention to her? Sure she’d helped out one or two of them, but that wasn’t any reason to suddenly be so friendly and welcoming, was it? She wasn’t used to being noticed, let alone thanked. With an exasperated sigh, she ducked inside the cart to check on Tristan.

\--------

Hands. Soft hands gently applied something cool to his side. Tristan’s eyes snapped open, gradually coming into focus. The Sarmatian girl, Dag had called her Nova, was wrapping a poultice of some kind on his injury. She glanced at him before tying off the bandage around his waist and sitting back.

“You should be alright now,” she offered quietly, “You’re lucky.”

“Thank you,” Tristan replied, “Just doing my job.”

He saw her frown and he could have sworn there was a mixture of surprise and confusion in her eyes. But she said nothing.

“You helped as well,” he stated.

She looked away, “You saved me first. Now we’re even.”

He chuckled then winced, putting a hand to his side, “I suppose.”

“Be careful,” her voice was barely above a whisper, “You need to rest.”

He merely nodded. Then a thought struck him, “Where’s Hawk?”

She offered a quick smile, “With Galahad.”

With a sigh, Tristan relaxed slightly, laying back on the furs of the cart. “Good,” he looked at her, “Everyone else?”

She nodded, “Thanks to you and Dagonet, no one else is injured.”

Tristan saw her watching him and he sensed the questions in those emerald eyes. She was far different than he’d expected and he wasn’t yet sure if that was a good or a bad thing. He could normally read people and understand their motives within minutes, but this girl was confusing him. Besides, he realized that he hadn’t been this close to a woman in, well, too long. Not that there was anything happening here, but if she wanted… He quickly looked away from her, trying to push those thoughts out of his head. She was damn beautiful, there was no denying that, and one hell of an archer, and her body... He wasn’t going to let his mind go down that road.

“Rumor has it you’re from Sarmatia,” he commented after a few minutes of silence, “Is it true?”

Nova looked at him and narrowed her eyes, “What if it is?”

“I am only curious as to which part of Sarmatia you are from and how you came to be here,” Tristan paused, “We are all Sarmatians, us Knights, and we always enjoy hearing of others like us.”

Nova stared at him for a moment, one black eyebrow raised, “I’m from a small village in the Eastern region,” she told him quietly.

“Really?” He asked.

She nodded.

“That’s interesting," he mused.

“Why?”

Tristan smiled slightly, “Only that I am also from the same area. Or nearby, anyway.”

Nova blinked, but didn’t say anything.

“What happened, Nova?” Tristan asked gently.

Nova looked at him, “Why?”

“Why what?” he asked.

“Why do you care?”

“Because you’re one of us,” he told her, “And I want to know how such a courageous, young woman like yourself could be so calloused towards the world. That mindset is more fitting for men like myself.”

She sighed and looked away again. “I was kidnapped and sold,” she said only just loud enough for Tristan to hear, “I was treated like I was nothing. I knew I would get back home, eventually, that it was only a matter of time. Then I was bought by Marius and when I refused to do what he told me, I was thrown into the dungeon with the others,” she looked him in the eye, “I don’t want your pity. I’ve had enough of that.”

The cart stopped then, before Tristan could respond to what Nova had just confided, and the curtain at the back opened.

“How’s he doing?” Arthur looked from Nova to Tristan, “Do you feel alright?”

Tristan nodded, struggling to sit up through the pain in his side, “You need me out there?”

Arthur shook his head, “No, not right now. Rest up. We’ve stopped for the night.”

Nova looked at Tristan, “He has a point.”

Tristan frowned. He didn’t like feeling like this. He had to move, had to do something useful, “Fine, I’ll rest. But out there with the others. I’m no invalid.”

A brief smile crossed Nova’s face as she reached out to help him out of the cart, “Of course.”

With Nova’s help, he got out of the cart and into the cool night air. Sure, he’d been shot, but he would heal. He’d had worse.

“Here,” Bors approached them, holding Tristan’s leather coat out to him, “Dag fixed this up for you.”

The Scout nodded his thanks and with Nova’s assistance slipped the jacket over his bare torso. The hole from the arrow was all stitched up nicely. No one would be able to tell. 

“How is Dagonet?” Tristan asked.

“He’ll live,” Bors replied, “Thanks to you and her. Oh, Hawk’s looking for you.”

On cue, a dark winged bullet dropped from the sky, landing on Tristan’s outstretched arm. Tristan smiled at the bird, stroking her head and murmuring softly to her. Hawk turned her head slightly, eying Nova. The girl watched Hawk, slowly extending her own hand toward the bird. Without hesitation, Hawk jumped from Tristan’s arm to Nova’s hand. Nova winced slightly as the sharp talons dug into her skin. The bird ruffled her feathers and closed her eyes.

Tristan smiled, “She likes you. She doesn’t like many people.”

Nova smiled back at him, “She’s beautiful.”

“And smart,” Tristan chuckled, “Come, let’s help set up camp.”

Nova followed him, carrying the precious cargo as Tristan helped the other Knights to set up a fire and sleeping areas. The Scout gently took Hawk from Nova, getting the bird to instead rest on a makeshift perch made of sticks. He reached up to remove his horse’s saddle and packs and bit back a wince of pain. His wound was still too fresh, he couldn’t move like he was used to.

“Here,” Nova stepped in, her long hair flowing past his face as she pulled the saddle and packs and set them on the ground, “Anything else I can help with?”

He was at a loss for words. A strange feeling gripped his stomach, like a strong hand wrenching tightly. Here he was just staring at her again… Clearing his throat, he reached for a fur blanket, spreading it out next to the saddle.

“You should get some sleep,” he told her.

She shrugged, “I suppose.”

“If you’re not tired, you can sit by the fire,” he offered, “If you want to.”

She shrugged again, “I don’t really want to be near the others. Too many questions that I prefer not to answer.”

Tristan nodded, a small smile playing on his face. He definitely understood that feeling.

“Whatever you want,” he told her.

Abruptly she sat on the bed of fur he’d just made, pulling her legs underneath her, and watching him. He sat next to her, reaching into his saddle pack for some food which he held out to her.

“Eat.”

She took the offered food, a grateful look on her face. 

"You want me to put something on that?" he asked, pointing to the talon marks Hawk had made on her hand.

"I'd forgotten about it already," she replied, "If you have something..."

Reaching into his saddle pack, he pulled out a small bit of cloth and a leather pouch. He took two or three herb leaves from the pouch, placing them on the cloth and reaching toward her hand. Gently, he wrapped the makeshift poultice around the wound, tying off the cloth and sitting back. "That should make it feel better for a while."

"Thank you," she said softly.

He smiled and gave her a slight nod.

They sat in silence for a little while, Tristan all too aware that she was watching his every move, even as he kept a keen eye on everything else that was going on in the camp. He was also very aware that she had inched closer and he struggled to not look at her for more than a second or two. He could have sworn that those green eyes of hers were magic.

“All of you Knights are working for Rome?” Nova asked suddenly, slightly startling Tristan.

He nodded, “Just the six of us left now.”

“I grew up hearing the stories,” she told him, “Romans coming around the villages every fifteen years for a fresh set of young men to train and use for the Empire.”

“Not just stories after all,” he commented dryly.

She watched him, “How much longer until you’re through serving Rome? Until you’re free?”

Tristan eyed her for a moment before looking away, “This is our final mission.”

“You don’t appear happy about it.”

He shrugged, “Honestly, I have nothing to go back to. I enjoy this,” he waved his hand around at the surrounding trees, “For the most part, at least. I don’t know what I’ll do with the freedom Rome will give us.”

“Tristan!” Galahad’s voice interrupted from near the main fire, “We need you over here.”

With a sigh, the Scout stood, glancing at Nova, “I’ll be right back.”

She nodded.

As Tristan approached the fire, Galahad reached a hand out toward the Scout’s injury but Tristan deftly dodged out of the way. “What do you need?”

“You’re kind of a hero, you know, saving Dagonet like you did,” Galahad grinned, a half empty bottle of ale in his hand, “Also, Lancelot wanted me to ask you when you’re going to sleep with that new girl.”

Tristan sighed audibly, “You’re drunk, Galahad. Stop stooping to Lancelot’s level. Go get some sleep.”

“But,” the younger Knight reached unsuccessfully for Tristan’s arm, “You didn’t answer my question.”

“Not your business,” the Scout replied, “Good night, Galahad.”

Tristan turned, leaving a mumbling Galahad and the others, heading back to his horse. He stopped short when he saw the scene before him. There she was fast asleep and all curled up in the furs he’d laid out, Hawk watching with one eye open as if to make sure the girl was alright. Now, he was in a quandary. He realized he was so very tired, but here Nova was, taking up the space where he was supposed to sleep. He didn’t have the time nor energy to make another bed elsewhere, but he didn’t want to break into her personal space.

After a moment’s indecision, he laid down on top of the furs next to her, taking off his coat and using it as a blanket for his torso so as not to disturb the furs Nova was using. He purposely faced away from her, giving as much space as was possible between them. He had barely closed his eyes when he heard her stirring and a warm hand on his back.

“I’m sorry,” she murmured sleepily, “I stole your bed.”

He craned his neck back to look at her, “It’s alright. I’m okay here.”

She shook her head, “No. Here,” she pulled the top fur back so there was ample room for him to slide underneath.

“A-Are you sure?” He stammered. She was only sharing the fur blanket, he told his panicky brain, nothing more.

Smiling, she nodded.

He obliged, sliding between the layers of fur. It was warmer than he expected, but then again he hadn’t had someone next to him to increase the temperature in a while. He still lay with his back to her and as far as he knew she had hers to him as well, but then he felt her hand on his side and her face against his back. He forced himself to lay still, just keep his eyes closed and sleep. 

As he began to drift into sleep, he was vaguely aware of how comfortable sleeping like this was, how warm she was, her extra body heat creating a nice space in the middle of the cold winter. Just before he fell into dreamland, he could have sworn he heard her whisper “thank you, Tristan,” but for all he knew, it could have been his imagination.


	10. This Darkest Winter

When Tristan awoke the next morning, the entire camp was silent. The sun hadn’t risen yet. He looked over, smiling to himself at seeing Nova still asleep. She looked so peaceful curled up in the furs, as if all her troubles were a thing of the past. As he watched her sleeping, he realized how young she must be, probably only seventeen or so. Not much older than he had been when he had come to Britain fifteen years ago. She looked almost like a child when she slept, but he knew that she had dealt with more in her young life than most people even his age had.

He also realized that she was not that different than him. They had both been through all manner of hell in their lifetimes, hers a very different sort than his, but still, she fought, never giving up on the hope that it would all eventually be just a bad dream. He hoped for her sake that she would be able to move on well after this, start a new life somewhere, perhaps find a decent man to settle down with. She was still young enough to perhaps remember her home and want to go back to her family. He wondered if she even had any family left.

Nova stirred then, her eyes opening slowly as she woke up. A quick smile flashed across her face and she sat up, yawning.

“Is anyone else awake yet?” She asked quietly.

Tristan shook his head, “No. I’m always up first. Usually I check out the surrounding area, make sure that everything is alright.”

“Can I go with you?”

He blinked, smiling slowly. She definitely was more similar to him than he’d thought, “If you want to.”

“I wouldn’t offer if I didn’t want to,” she stood, stretching slightly, “Perhaps you can teach me a thing or two about tracking. I know you’re a lot better at it than you let anyone else believe.”

He chuckled, getting to his feet and reaching for his weapons, “I think I could do that.”

She fell in step with him as they began to walk the perimeter of the camp. He pointed out various animal droppings, paw prints, native plants that grew in certain areas, explaining what each thing meant as they went along. 

“Did you know all of this before?” She asked, “When you were still a boy in Sarmatia?”

“Some, yes,” he frowned slightly, “I had to learn about these things quickly, or I would have shared the same fate as my family and many of the people in my village.”

“You’re a survivor, Tristan, like many Sarmatians have had to be,” she looked at him, smiling knowingly, “I think we’re not all that different, you and I.”

He couldn’t help but smile back at her. He couldn’t have agreed more.

\--------

The trip back to the Wall was uneventful and the caravan made decent time, considering the vast amounts of villagers, carts and livestock. Tristan and Dagonet were both healing nicely and there was a depth of unspoken gratitude between the two men. Each one felt that he owed the other, though Nova was sure that they had broken even.

The Knights, tired and dirty, were ready for rest and fresh food, only to be met by the over zealous Roman who had sent then on their suicide mission to begin with. Bishop Germanius doted over young Alecto, completely ignoring the Knights. One of the Bishop’s lackeys held out an open box, six white scrolls nestled inside.

“Your papers,” the lackey stated.

Each Knight grabbed a scroll and went their separate ways. None of them too happy, but all of them ready to clean up, rest and drink.

“All that dirty Roman cares about is that useless kid,” Galahad complained quietly to Tristan.

Tristan shook his head, but offered no comment as he began walking his horse toward the stables.

“Do they not care about the Saxon army?” Nova asked, following alongside Tristan.

“They will soon enough,” he replied, reaching up to remove his horse’s saddle, only to nearly drop it, biting back a wince.

Nova stepped forward, wordlessly completing the task for him.

“Thank you,” the Scout offered quietly.

She smiled, shaking her head, “You still need to heal. Here,” she picked up his saddle pack and looked up at him, “I’ll take these to your quarters for you.”

He held his hand on her arm gently, “That’s not necessary.”

Her eyes narrowed and she shrugged off his hand, “I want to help. And you are still injured, whether you want to admit it or not.”

A small smirk played on his face and he lowered his hand, “I can’t argue with that.”

He led her down a handful of corridors until he stopped in front of his door. He realized that he hadn’t brought a woman to his room in a long while, but this of course, was different than other times. Shaking off those thoughts, he opened the door. Everything was just as he’d left it. He placed his sword on a small wooden stand in one corner, hanging his bow on a hook on the wall. His armor was still covered with cloth on a stand in another corner. Hawk fluttered in through the one small window, settling onto a perch next to the bed.

“You can put all that over there,” Tristan motioned to the floor at the opposite wall, “I can clean it up later.”

Nova nodded, setting his things down and glancing about the room.

“What?” He queried. It was obvious that she was thinking about something.

“It’s small,” she replied, “Simple. I like it.”

He smiled slightly, “I suppose it is. I don’t spend much time in here.”

“I wouldn’t, either.”

“Come,” he motioned to the door, “Let’s find some food and I’ll introduce you to Vanora. She can find you a place to stay.

Nova nodded and followed him out. They walked in silence to the tavern, the sounds of children laughing and Bors’ deep voice reaching them before the building came into sight.

“There’s your Uncle Tristan,” Bors’ voice rang out and the crowd of children rushed the Scout.

“Is it true you took on the Saxon army all by yourself?” One child asked.

“You saved Uncle Dag!” Another exclaimed.

“Oh, Father said you were hit with an arrow,” a third excitedly grabbed at Tristan’s coat, “I wanna see the scar.”

Tristan patiently attempted to hold the children at bay, but couldn’t stop the look of panic from spreading across his face.

“Children, enough!” Vanora approached them, “Go on, leave the poor man alone.”

The children scattered amidst a myriad of giggles. Vanora shook her head, “They are completely hopeless,” she looked directly at Tristan, eyes serious, “Thank you, truly. Bors would be devastated if anything happened to Dagonet.”

Tristan nodded his head silently.

“Who’s this?” Vanora stepped to the side, getting a better view of Nova who had hidden behind Tristan when the children had swarmed them, “A new girl, Tristan?”

Tristan felt his face flush and he shook his head. “No, um, we rescued her along with Guinevere and the boy.”

Nova glanced at him, then turned to Vanora, “He did the rescuing. He’s being modest.”

Vanora laughed lightly, “As he always is. You must be Nova then. Come, follow me, I’ve got a place you can clean up and perhaps a dress or two for you. Poor thing, you must be starving, let’s get you some food.”

Nova looked at Tristan. He merely nodded his head in Vanora’s direction and she went. With a sigh, the Scout sat across from Bors at a table, helping himself to the spread of food and drink.

“I see you still enjoy spreading tales,” he commented quietly, looking up at Bors.

The big Knight shrugged, a half drunk smirk on his face, “Only when they’re true. The kids love it,” he winked, “Now, that Nova girl… you sure you’re not interested? Lance will jump on that first chance he can, y’know.”

Tristan frowned, stabbing a piece of meat a little too hard with his knife. “I never said I wasn’t interested,” he paused, washing down the meat with a swig of ale, “I never claim any woman, unlike most of you. If there was anything going on, I doubt any of you would know about it anyway.”

Bors blinked, then shook his head as he grabbed another chunk of bread, “Again I realize how odd you are. And not in any bad way.”

Shrugging, Tristan continued eating in silence. Soon the other Knights began to trickle in, along with other soldiers, and the tavern was soon as loud and boisterous as ever. As the night waned on, most of the men wandered off to their quarters with a woman, or in Lancelot’s case two, until the only ones left were Tristan and Dagonet. The two sat in silence, no longer drinking, but neither one wanting to leave.

“Bors and Lancelot won’t stop talking about Nova,” Dagonet spoke up, “Seems they have a bet going and Lance thinks that you won’t sleep with her and if you don’t, he will.”

Tristan snorted derisively and shook his head, “I already told Bors that I don’t treat women the same way Lance and others do. If she wants something, she can have it, but I won’t even pretend that I can claim her in that way.”

Dag chuckled, “See, Bors is betting that you will sleep with her and then I’ll find out and tell him all about it.”

Tristan rolled his eyes, “As if anyone knows a thing about the women I may have been with. I’m not going to start sharing that now.”

“That’s what I told him,” Dag stood, “But you know Bors and Lance...”

Tristan smiled slightly, “They have to be in everyone else’s business.”

“They do that,” Dagonet stretched, “Well, we’ll see that the morning brings. Try and get some sleep, Tristan.”

The Scout nodded, watching his friend leave. He sighed and slowly stood to leave the tavern as well. The garrison was quiet. Most of the inhabitants were asleep, except for a handful of guards on watch. He meandered through the alleys, stopping at the top of the Wall itself in a particularly quiet spot. There was a great sense of foreboding in the night air and he knew it was only a matter of time before the Saxons were at their door. Dagonet was right, he should get some sleep while he was able.

“It’s peaceful up here.”

Nova’s sudden comment made him jump, silently cursing himself for not hearing her approach. He nodded, trying to find his voice.

“I can’t sleep,” she offered quietly, stepping up next to him.

“I usually can’t either,” Tristan replied, he paused for a moment, “Apparently you and I are the subject of a bet between Lancelot and Bors.”

She started and turned to face him, “Are we?”

He nodded.

“I can probably assume what it is about then,” she remarked.

He could only nod again, swallowing the sudden unexplainable lump in his throat.

She smiled, eyes glittering in the soft glow of a nearby torch as she stepped closer to him, reaching a hand up to brush a strand of his hair out of his face, “What do we have to do to make Lancelot lose this bet?”

Tristan couldn’t speak. His chest constricted in an odd way that he hadn’t felt in a long time. He couldn’t think. Only stand stiffly as she moved even closer.

“You do want Lancelot to lose, don’t you?”

He nodded, “Yes,” he whispered, “I do.”

Her lips brushed his ear and it took all his self control to remain still.

“There would be something truly satisfying in that, I think,” Nova whispered, her hand running up his arm.

The Scout shuddered slightly at her touch. He knew exactly what she was saying and gods knew he wanted it. Unable to hold back any longer, he wrapped one arm around her waist, pulling her against him. Flames danced in her eyes as their lips met and she melted into him. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d actually been with a woman, but of course this was different, she was different. There was the obvious physical connection happening, but there was also so much more than that under the surface that no one else besides them would ever know.

After only a moment, she pulled away and silently took his hand. Without a sound, she led him down the stairs, through the maze of alleys and corridors until they reached his door. Once inside his room, he kicked the door closed, pressing her against it as their lips locked in a passionate kiss. He heard a sigh escape her, felt her fingers working to push his coat off his shoulders. He obliged and let it drop, followed quickly by his leather tunic underneath. They worked their way across the room, leaving a trail of garments in their wake.

Laying her down on his bed, he reveled in how her porcelain skin felt against his. She clutched at his shoulders as he entered her, a soft gasp emitting from her lips. She was warm, her skin soft, her body writhing in pleasure underneath him as he moved. He made the moment last as long as he was able, not wanting the sensation of feeling her to end too quickly. As he finished, she arched beneath him, moaning and gripping his back so tightly he was sure she left marks.

Tristan lay next to her, catching his breath as she nestled into him, her head resting on his chest. Smiling to himself, he put an arm around her. He liked this, even though somewhere in the back of his mind he knew the moment was fleeting. In the morning they would likely have to face the Saxons and gods only knew how that would end. But, right now he was enjoying every second of being with Nova.

\--------

Drums woke Tristan at some point in the night. At first he thought he was dreaming, re-imagining the Saxons coming across the ice. But as he woke completely, he realized with dreadful certainty that this was indeed not a dream at all. Cursing, he sat up quickly, reaching for his pants.

“What is it?” Nova asked, rubbing sleep from her eyes.

“Saxons.”

She sat up, clutching the fur blanket to her chest, “Here? Already?”

He nodded, lacing up one boot before holding her clothing out to her, “Get dressed. I’m sure the others are on the Wall, or on their way.”

She did so quickly, pulling the thin material over her head. Tristan barely had time to finish putting his boots on and grab his coat, forgoing his vest, before there was a loud pounding on his door, amid the sounds of shouting and people running.

He opened the door and was met with chaos. There was no way of knowing who had banged on his door, only that the entire garrison was wide awake and in quite a state of panic. He felt Nova’s hand slip into his and he glanced at her. She gave him an encouraging smile and he led them out, following the flow of the crowd to the Wall and squeezing through to the stairs and to the top.

Galahad was next to him, “Is it...”

“Saxons,” Bors muttered darkly.

“We knew they were coming,” Dagonet commented.

Tristan caught the healer’s knowing glance, but said nothing. There were countless fires in the Saxon camp, burning brightly in the predawn darkness. The wind picked up, the cold winter breeze bringing the sound of the drums that much closer. Nova shivered, hugging herself against the wind and Tristan immediately put his coat around her shoulders, pulling her close to him. He noticed Bors nudge Lancelot and he glared daggers at the two of them. He didn’t care about their bet, now wasn’t the time.

Arthur and Guinevere came rushing up the steps and Tristan noted that they were perhaps a bit too close to each other, similar to himself and Nova. At least he wasn’t the only one…

“What are we going to do?” Galahad asked Arthur.

“Get the women, children and elderly out. Go with them south,” Arthur turned to face the Knights, “My journey with you ends here. I cannot assume you will stay. I must, as it is my duty, but the rest of you have earned your freedom. Some of you have families,” he looked at Bors, “The choice is yours.”

Arthur took another quick look out at the fires of the Saxon army and then descended the steps, followed closely by Guinevere. The other Knights slowly dispersed, muttering amongst themselves.

“Vanora’s going to kill me,” Bors lamented.

Tristan smiled slightly, “Not if I do first.”

“Yes, I see you two really took that bet to heart,” Lancelot spoke up next to them.

Bors held out his hand, “Pay up, Lance.”

“We’ll settle up after we beat these Saxons,” Lancelot told him.

Tristan shook his head, continuing on toward his room. He knew that Arthur was letting them choose, expecting them to take this chance at the freedom they had worked so hard to earn, but he also knew that he couldn’t just leave when it meant certain death for his leader, his friend.

Nova trailed behind him, hardly making a sound as they returned to his room. He dressed quietly, methodically, not even seeming to notice her presence as she stood off to one side.

“You’re going to fight.” It was a statement more than a question and he nodded wordlessly, pulling the blanket from the stand in the corner. His set of armor gleamed in the light from the window, leather and metal shining. Resting his hand on it briefly, he lifted the armor from it’s stand.

“Let me help,” Nova stepped up.

He didn’t argue, instead letting her fasten his armor, securing it. It had been a long time since he’d had to wear it and his face darkened at the thought of the other occasions of its use.

“Tristan?”

Nova’s voice caught his attention and he looked over at her.

“Please don’t shut me out,” she said quietly, “I understand that you need to do this, I would expect nothing less from you.” She paused, resting a hand on his chest now safely encased in armor, “I only ask that you let me help in any way that I can.”

He stared at her for a moment, then pulled her close, pressing his lips to hers in a passionate kiss. She returned the kiss and they stood for a long moment before the sound of someone clearing their throat interrupted.

“Have I come at a bad time?” Lancelot stood in the doorway, a knowing smirk on his face.

Tristan turned slightly, one eyebrow raised. The other Knight was dressed in his own armor, dual swords strapped to his back.

“All of us are staying to fight,” Lancelot told them, “The women, children, elderly,” he waved his hand, “They’re heading to safety.”

Tristan nodded. He expected as much.

“When you’re ready, the others are getting their horses.” With a nod to them, Lancelot left.

“Do you want me to leave?” Nova asked, “To go with the other women and the children?”

Tristan let out a long breath as he reached for his weapons. “What I want doesn’t matter. You do what you feel is right,” he looked directly into her eyes for a quick moment, “Make your own decision, as I have made mine.”

She nodded, “Arthur and the others are lucky to have you at their side.”

He smiled humorlessly, “And here I was thinking that I just can’t let them get all the glory.”

She brushed her lips across his cheek, “I can’t expect you to make a promise that you can’t keep, but, just the same, try and live through this. Please, Tristan.”

He nodded, but said nothing, turning toward the door, “Whatever you do decide, Nova, don’t question your choice.”

With that, he walked away toward the stables. He had to put her out of his mind, had to focus on the task at hand. More than likely, most of them wouldn’t make it through this battle and he hoped that Nova would go live her life, forget about him, his love for blood-letting and that short sweet moment they’d enjoyed last night.


	11. To the End

A child’s cry confused Tristan and he looked around for the source. The young Woad Lucan sat in a dark corner nearby, eyes red, fear etched on his face.

“Lucan,” Tristan knelt before the boy, “What is it? Why aren’t you with Vanora and the children?”

“I-I was looking for Dagonet,” the boy stammered, “I don’t want him to stay. None of you should.”

Something unexplainable gripped Tristan’s stomach even as he helped Lucan to his feet. The Scout remembered Dagonet telling him that the boy was a Seer.

“Death,” Lucan whispered, shrinking away from Tristan, “Death follows you.” The boy frowned thoughtfully, “But it’s different this time.”

Tristan straightened, “What do you mean?”

“Before, at the ice lake, Death surrounded Dagonet, but a different sort than the Death following you.”

Tristan blinked. This boy made no sense. He knew that his whole life he’d been hand in hand with Death, killing came naturally to him after all, and he’d practically turned it into an art. But what Lucan said, how the boy had said it… It was cause for concern.

“Lucan!” Dagonet approached them, reaching down to lift the boy into his arms, “What is it?” The healer looked at Tristan quizzically.

Tristan just shook his head.

“Lucan?” Dag looked at the boy.

Lucan sniffled, wiping his eyes, “I don’t want you to stay, Dagonet. I saw so much Death,” he glanced at Tristan, “Some of you will not survive.”

Tristan took a quick step back. Now he was nervous, if that was even the right way to describe the heavy, dark weight he felt in the pit of stomach, a weight that threatened to take over the rest of his body. 

“Can you tell me who?” Dagonet asked gently.

Lucan nodded, “I can, but I shouldn’t. It might change what I Saw.”

“Wouldn’t that be a good thing?” Dag asked.

Lucan made a face, “If one is saved, another must fall.”

Tristan looked away. He didn’t want to know what the boy had Seen. If he was meant to die in this battle, then so be it, but he didn’t want to know about it ahead of time.

“You’ll be okay though, Dag,” Lucan murmured, “Bors, too.”

“Okay,” the healer hugged the boy, “Thank you, Lucan. Now you need to go find Vanora and the children, can you do that?”

Lucan nodded, looking up as Dag set him back on the ground. “Tristan?”

The Scout glanced down at the boy, trying to keep the frown off his face.

“I can’t See what your fate is,” Lucan told him, “It keeps changing.”

Tristan started slightly, “Thank you, I think,” he responded.

The boy suddenly hugged him before running off to catch up with Vanora.

“Try to be optimistic, Trist,” Dagonet gripped his friend’s shoulder comfortingly.

“Easy for you to say,” Tristan replied darkly, “You and Bors will be fine, apparently.”

Dagonet shrugged, “We will see. Let’s go kill some Saxons.”

Tristan nodded, walking with Dag to the stables.

“Where is Nova?” the healer asked after a moment of silence.

“I don’t know,” Tristan responded, determinedly reaching for his horse’s saddle while not making eye contact with Dagonet, “I told her to make her own choice.”

“You know as well as I do that she’s a fighter and that she’s damn good with a bow.”

Tristan didn’t respond, instead continuing to ready his horse.

“All I’m saying is, we could definitely use her here,” Dagonet continued, “You should have told her to stay.”

Tristan pulled on the saddle cinch a bit too hard, his horse snorting and shifting. “Sorry, girl,” he whispered before looking over at Dagonet, “Nova can make her own decisions.”

A slow smile spread across the healer’s face, “You really like her. Have you told her how you feel?”

Feeling his face burn, Tristan focused on his horse, ignoring his friend’s question.

Dagonet chuckled, “You should have given her a hint at least.”

“I think I did that well enough,” Tristan replied quietly, “I don’t want her to share my fate, Dag, she has the opportunity to start fresh, make something of her life. Not follow me into Death.”

“You know,” Dagonet spoke up after a moment, “I don’t believe I’ve ever heard you talk this much about your feelings. She must be good for you.”

Tristan rolled his eyes, unable to hide the slight smile on his face. He took his horse’s reins and looked at Dagonet. “Let’s do this.”

Dagonet smiled, leading his own horse behind Tristan as they went out to meet the others. All six Knights were now battle ready, weapons honed, battle standards in hand. The garrison was now devoid of all life, broken pottery, empty houses and abandoned scraps of people’s lives scattered around.

“Are we ready?” Lancelot asked the group, “You can all still change your minds.”

Bors snorted, “As if I’d let you take all the glory.”

Lancelot smiled, winking at Bors, “Want to make another bet?”

“Because you did so well on that first one, Lance,” Tristan spoke up, amid scattered chuckles from the other Knights, “I’ll make a bet with you, all of you.”

“Really?” Lancelot raised an eyebrow.

All the Knights focused on the usually silent Scout.

“I bet you all that I’ll get more kills than any one of you.”

“Well that’s too easy,” Gawain interjected, “Why not all of us combined? That’s a real challenge for you.”

Tristan shrugged, “Sounds good.”

“Alright, now that we’ve got that straightened out,” Lancelot was suddenly serious, “We have a job to do and Saxons to kill. Let’s go!”

The Knights rode out in a single file line, Lancelot leading as they headed to the hill where Arthur was waiting. Tristan scanned the sky, smiling to himself when he saw Hawk gliding above them.

“You’re free, girl,” he whispered.

~~~~~~~

As Tristan and the other Knights joined Arthur, the Scout was able to see the Saxon army clearly as the formidable force that they were.

“This is it, boys,” Bors spoke solemnly, a strange reprieve from his usually jovial self.

And it began. The first wave of the Saxon army was quickly overtaken, boxed in inside the Wall, the gates closed behind them as they were disoriented and decimated. Arthur and the Knights charging through their ranks on horseback, dividing them while the Woads rained arrows from the sky. The Knights let only one Saxon escape to run off to their leader.

Tristan was ready. Hot, already tired, his armor colorfully splattered with Saxon blood. This was it. He’d resigned himself to the very real chance that he would die in this battle, but if that was Fate’s decision, he would take down as many Saxons as possible on his way out. 

The main Saxon army, or what was left of it, was now pouring through the gates and Tristan saw Merlin and his Woads launching a flaming arsenal from trebuchets at the Saxons. The army was soon divided, a wall of fire between the two sections of Saxons. The Knights all charged toward the bigger section, Tristan and Galahad both firing off a handful of arrows before getting into the thick of the fighting.

One Saxon stood out immediately. Tristan knew that this was their leader. All other Saxons were giving this man a wide berth and he held himself with such a fierce commanding authority that Tristan knew it couldn’t be anyone else. If he could take the head off the snake, then the body would die.

The Scout rode his horse closer, skillfully dismounting while at the same time dispatching a Saxon next to him. He had his sights set on this leader, all other Saxons were only in his way and he made short work of them, their screams silent to his ears.

The leader noticed Tristan and their eyes locked across a handful of other Saxons. One Saxon got a nod from the leader and charged Tristan, who instantly took him out without even breaking a sweat, the man falling dead at the Scout’s feet. Tristan and the Saxon leader were now within blade’s reach of each other and Tristan took in the man’s appearance. He was formidable to be sure, sword drawn while calmly squaring off in front of Tristan. The Scout took his helmet off, tossing it aside, as now it was only in his way.

Tristan stepped forward, swinging at the Saxon, who dodged, easily parrying the Scout’s attack. Both men stepped back, Tristan realizing quickly that this man was going to be quite a bit more difficult to kill than he had originally thought. The Saxon reached down with his left hand, pulling a knife from his belt as Tristan came in for another attack. His sword easily knocked aside, Tristan turned slightly, the momentum from his attack exposing his right side to the Saxon. He cringed silently as he felt a blade cutting into his underarm.

Unable to keep the surprised wince from his face, Tristan took a step back, reaching his left hand over to the wound on his right arm, it came away red. This already wasn’t going as well as he’d hoped. With renewed vigor, he charged in again and his sword was again knocked aside, the knife the Saxon held catching the back of Tristan’s right leg and, as the Scout stumbled, also slashing the back of Tristan’s neck.

With a growl more of annoyance than pain, Tristan fell to the ground, somehow managing to keep his sword up for defense as he held his other hand to the back of his neck. Another low growl emitted from him and he leaped to his feet, sword in his left hand now, rushing the Saxon, only to have the Saxon’s blade painfully meet his left arm. Tristan fell again, his sword on the ground this time, several feet away from him. He got to his knees, reaching to the front of his armor for the knife he kept there.

But then the Saxon did something Tristan didn’t expect, he kicked the Scout’s sword back to him. Now slightly confused, Tristan limped toward his blade, bending slowly to pick it up. As he got a firm grip on his sword, Tristan swung with what little energy he had, but his sword was knocked out of his hand again at the same moment that the Saxon stabbed Tristan’s right arm with the knife.

Tristan fell back to the ground, the Saxon knife stuck into his forearm. At this point he was feeling every injury. His right arm was pretty much useless, the muscles in his underarm now not wanting to work at all, adding to that the immense level of pain from the knife imbedded near his wrist. His left arm was throbbing where the Saxon had cut him, his leg felt like it was going to give out under him and he could feel the warm blood dripping down his back from the cut on his neck. But, despite all of that, his only thought was that he had to take down this Saxon, if it was the last thing he did, which at this rate it probably would be.

He was in the process of trying to crawl a little bit away from the Saxon, trying to put even a little distance between them so he could come up with a way of attacking the man. Then he heard the Saxon behind him, felt a painful yank on his hair as he was pulled backward. While the Saxon pulled him, Tristan took the knife from his own arm, stabbing it into the Saxon’s leg with all the strength he had left.

The Saxon grunted, now obviously angry at the injury he’d received, sliced his blade across Tristan, catching part of the Scout’s face and left arm with the blade. Tristan rocked on his knees, barely conscious, but aware enough to notice that the Saxon was using his sword, the sword that he had carried since his father had died. That added another level of insult to Tristan’s many injuries, the fact that the Saxon was even holding Tristan’s sword, let along using it on him.

Gasping for breath, Tristan realized that this was it. He had known that this was how he would leave this life. He could barely see through the blood from the cut on his face, could hardly breathe through the pain. It was all he could do to stay conscious as a slow feeling of dread, tinged with sadness, filled him. He realized that he didn’t want to die. Not here, not now.

Unable to keep the slow smile from his face, he realized that he really did like Nova and what he really wished was that he had been able to spend more time with her. That girl was definitely something special. Dagonet had been right. He liked her and she was good for him in more ways than he had noticed at first. She brought him out of his normal silence and made him feel something that he hadn’t felt for another human being in a long, long time.

But, here he was, badly injured, barely breathing, waiting on a Saxon to give the killing blow. As he lay prone on the blood-soaked earth, he couldn’t help but continue to smile at seeing Hawk flying overhead. She was free at least, able to do whatever she wanted now. He closed his eyes, waiting.

Out of nowhere, a high-pitched screech pierced the air, followed quickly by what sounded like cursing from the Saxon leader. Tristan’s right eye snapped back open, his left unable to do the same. A flurry of feathers and talons ferociously attacked the Saxon. Hawk, as well as a handful of other birds around her size, were viciously clawing and pecking at Tristan’s opponent, distracting the Saxon enough to momentarily forget about Tristan.

A guttural roar sounded nearby and Tristan saw Arthur charging the Saxon. Hawk and her friends flew off a ways, leaving the fate of the Saxon in Arthur’s hands. Tristan could only watch as his friend faced off against the Saxon, while he himself was still on the brink of consciousness. Although Hawk had saved him from the blade, Tristan could feel his blood seeping through his armor and still dripping down his face.

Arthur appeared to be winning now, no, he was on his knees? Tristan felt his heart rate increase slightly. This wasn’t supposed to happen. Arthur couldn’t die here. Suddenly the Saxon stumbled back, a short blade growing from his stomach.

Tristan smiled, “Well done, Arthur,” he whispered, knowing no one could hear him.

He saw Arthur stand, look around him and that was when Tristan noticed the eery silence. He wasn’t sure if it was because the battle was over or because he was finally fading. The last thing Tristan remembered was seeing Arthur running off a ways, crashing to his knees and cradling a limp body in his arms. The Scout could have sworn it was Guinevere, but his eyes couldn’t focus and he struggled to breathe as everything went black.

~~~~~~~

Nova stood at the edge of the battlefield with the Woad archers. Bodies of Woads and Saxons, dead and dying, littered the earth. She had never seen this much bloodshed in her life. An unfamiliar metallic taste lingered on her tongue and she cringed against sight before her.

“Come, girl,” Merlin motioned to her from nearby, “We must help the wounded.”

Silently she nodded, dropping her bow with the pile of Woad bows and following Merlin into the sea of Death. As she knelt by the body of a young Woad, noting that he was not still alive, she heard Hawk screeching. She looked up, scanning the field for the bird. That was when she saw him, unmoving amongst the dead, Hawk awkwardly hopping around him.

Without a moment’s hesitation, Nova ran. She reached the fallen Scout in seconds, dropping to her knees next to him. She couldn’t tell if he was still breathing, only that he was covered in blood and horribly injured. Tears filled her eyes, blinding her as she reached for his bloodied hand. Gently, she held his hand, it was limp but still warm. Hawk hopped nearby, emitting a sound that Nova could only describe as a worried whimper.

“Tristan,” she whispered, reaching toward his face, “I’m so sorry.”

His hand squeezed hers slightly and his non-bloodied eye opened partially.

“Nova?” he murmured, “You stayed.”

“Of course I stayed,” she gently lifted his head, cradling him in her lap, “You’ll be alright, it’ll be alright.”

His eye closed and he smiled. She held him close, tears pouring down her face.

“Nova!” Dagonet came rushing up, followed closely by Galahad.

“Is he...” Galahad left his question hanging as the healer knelt next to Nova.

“He’s still breathing,” Dagonet looked at the younger Knight, “Quickly, Galahad, help me get him to Merlin.”

Galahad and Dagonet lifted the unconscious Tristan, hurriedly carrying him to the edge of the battlefield where Merlin had set up an area for the wounded. Nova remained on the ground, staring at Tristan’s blood on her hands. Hawk hopped next to her, softly rubbing her head against the girl’s hand.

“He’ll be okay,” Nova murmured, “He has to be okay.”

The sound of a piercing, heart-wrenching cry shattered the surprisingly calm aftermath of the battle. Nova looked over to see Arthur cradling Guinevere in his arms.

“No...” Nova stumbled to her feet, running toward Arthur, “No!”

“She wasn’t supposed to die here,” Arthur looked up at Nova, tears streaming down his face, “It was my life to be taken!”

Nova could only stare, unable to move or to speak.

“Arthur,” Gawain limped up to them, “Oh, gods, no...”

Arthur continued hugging Guinevere’s lifeless body, “Who else?” his voice quivered, “Who else did we lose?”

Gawain shook his head, his mouth set in a grim line.

“Tell me!” Arthur pleaded.

“I’m sorry,” Gawain cleared his throat, “Lancelot didn’t make it.”

“No!” Arthur’s voice cracked as he shouted, and Nova could only watch as his body shook with sobs.

She realized then just how much of a family these Knights were. Lancelot was his friend, his blood brother, and Guinevere, as little as he’d known her, she was already special to him, everyone had seen that. And he’d lost them both.

“Nova,” Gawain turned his attention to her, “What about Tristan? I saw him fall as well.”

Nova shook her head, “Dagonet took him to Merlin. I-I don’t know...”

“Tell Merlin to do whatever it takes,” Arthur’s voice, although quiet was serious and commanding, “Whatever he needs, we will get for him. I cannot lose anyone else.”

Nova nodded, turning to find Merlin. She approached the healing area slowly, the moans of the dying mingling with the strange chanting from the Woad healers. As she stood there for a moment, she watched as the healers applied bandages, sewed up wounds, or in some cases closed limp eyelids and said what she could only assume were prayers. She saw Tristan lying prone, Dagonet working to remove the Scout’s armor and clean his wounds.

“Dear girl,” Merlin stood in front of Nova suddenly, “My Guinevere, I felt the earth take her. This is true?”

Nova nodded, “Yes. Arthur and Gawain are with her. I’m so sorry, Merlin.”

The Woad sighed, “As I thought. Here, girl, help with your Knight. He is on the brink and will fade quickly if not taken care of.”

Nova swallowed the lump in her throat and made her way to Dagonet’s side, “Tell me what to do to help you,” she said quietly. 

Dagonet didn’t even glance at her, his hands covered in blood as he focused on his friend, “Tell Merlin I need more herbs. He knows which ones.”

She did as he asked, running to and fro for him, gathering whatever supplies he needed as he requested them. Finally, in the red glow of sunset, Dagonet stepped back.

“I’ve done what I can,” he looked at Nova, “All we can do now is keep him comfortable and, if you’re the praying sort, do a lot of that.”

“Can we move him to his room?” She asked.

Dagonet nodded, “Carefully yes, I’ll get the boys to help.”

Dagonet, Galahad and Bors carried Tristan slowly to his room, laying him gently on his bed. As the others dispersed to clean up, Dagonet looked at Nova, a tired smile on his face.

“He’s in good hands with you. I’ll be by later to check on him. Send for me if anything changes.”

Nova managed a smile in return, “Thank you, Dagonet, truly.”

The healer only nodded, softly closing the door behind him. With a sigh, Nova sat next to Tristan, watching his chest rise and fall with each shallow breath. He was covered in bandages, his right shoulder and forearm, his neck, his left arm and side, his right leg and his left eye. So many injuries. How was he supposed to recover from all this? 

She wondered what he would even be able to do when he could get up and begin to move around. He was a phenomenal archer but now, with only one eye… She held back the tears, steeling herself against the wave of emotions she felt. He would manage. If he was even half as resilient as she expected, he would get through this and make it work.


	12. Start the Adventure

Over the next several days, Nova monitored Tristan, helping Dagonet to change the bandages and feeding Tristan during his lucid moments. After nearly a week, his fever broke, normal color returning to his face. Dagonet had just come by moments before to check on him, reminding Nova of the double funeral that evening, when Tristan woke up.

He shifted on the bed and Nova immediately reached to help him sit up.

“Take it easy,” she told him, “You still need to rest.”

Wincing against the pain, he reached up to the bandage around his head.

“Is this as bad as I think?” He asked, his voice dry, cracking from disuse.

“That all depends on how bad you think it is,” she replied, managing a smile for him as she gently unwrapped the bandage from his head. His left eye stared blankly at nothing, a long red line stretching from his forehead across his eye to his cheekbone. She watched as he reached a hand up, fingers lightly tracing the fresh scar. With a sigh, he lowered his hand, looking up at her with his good eye.

“I suppose it could be worse,” he spoke quietly, “I’ll manage.”

Nova swallowed the lump in her throat, nodding as tears began to fill her eyes. He reached his hand toward her face, lightly brushing her cheek.

“No tears,” he told her softly, “I’m alive and so are you.”

She took his hand in both of hers, smiling at him, “Yes, we are.”

Shifting slightly he smiled back briefly, “How did the others fare?”

“We lost Guinevere,” she took a deep breath, “And Lancelot as well. Arthur is heartbroken.”

.~~~~~~~.

Tristan felt as if his heart stopped. Lancelot… gone? He vaguely remembered seeing Arthur on the battlefield, holding Guinevere’s body, but Lancelot, too? In the back of his mind he recalled Lucan telling him that “if one is saved another must fall.” He had been sure that he would die, but instead it had been Lancelot. Part of him hoped that this was what Fate had decided long ago, that it hadn’t been Lancelot’s life for his.

“How long has it been?” he asked, “And, have they buried them yet?”

“It’s been about seven days or so,” she told him, “They’re being burned tonight actually.”

With a grunt of exertion, Tristan sat up straighter, holding a hand to his side.

“What are you doing?” she gently tried to hold him back.

“I need to get up, I have to be there.”

“No,” she shook her head, “I know how stubborn you are, but you need to rest. You’re still healing. Everyone knows that. They’ll understand.”

He stopped moving, searching for her face that was so close to his. Reaching to the back of her neck, he pulled her closer, their lips meeting in a hot kiss. After a moment, he pulled back slightly, resting his forehead against hers.

“Thank you, Nova,” he whispered, “For all that you have done for me.”

She smiled, kissing him again briefly. “You would have done the same.”

He smiled back and was about to speak again when the door opened and Dagonet’s head poked into the room.

“Nova, it’s- Oh, Trist!” The healer’s face broke into a wide grin, “I’m so glad to see you awake.”

“I’m very thankful to be alive,” the Scout responded, “Now, Nova refuses to let me get up. Perhaps you might? I need to be at the funeral.”

Dagonet’s smile faded and he nodded, “I think we can manage that.”

Nova and Dagonet helped Tristan stand, after getting his coat on. The Scout leaned heavily on Nova, his left arm over her shoulders.

“At any point that you feel like you need to, please sit down and rest,” Dagonet told him, “Please, Tristan.”

Tristan offered a slightly strained smile, “Of course, but I think I have some good help here.”

Nova blushed, “Come on.”

They walked slowly, Tristan realizing very quickly just how bad off he was and how much healing he still needed. He was weak, something he wasn’t used to. His breath was coming in gasps and if he hadn’t been leaning on Nova, he was sure he would have lost his balance already.

“This one eye thing will take some getting used to,” he commented to Nova.

She glanced at him, concern prevalent in her eyes. “Do you need to stop for a moment?”

He shook his head, “No, not yet at least.”

They continued, joining others as they made their way to the burial hill. Tristan made Nova stop at the base of the hill.

“If you can’t make it to the top, I’m sure the others will understand,” she said.

“It’s not that,” he sighed, frowning, “I… I don’t think I can do this. I don’t do funerals well. And I don’t want my presence to take away from what’s important here.”

“Nonsense,” Merlin had approached on his blind side, “You are showing great strength already, Tristan. Do not allow fear to weaken that.”

Tristan nodded slowly, “I’m sorry about Guinevere.”

Merlin shook his head, a sad smile on his face, “Fate always decides these things. I can only learn from it and move forward. Come.”

The Woad stepped up to Tristan’s side, lending support to aid the Scout in getting up the hill. Once at the top, Merlin left them to go stand next to Arthur. It was obvious to Tristan that Arthur had taken these deaths hard, there was an immense sadness and heartbreaking pain on his friend’s face. He understood in a way how the man felt, losing people who were near and dear to him.

“Tristan!” Galahad all but ran up to where the Scout stood with Nova at the edge of the gathered mourners, “So good to see you awake and moving around.”

“How are you, Trist?” Gawain stepped up next to Galahad.

“I’ll manage,” Tristan replied. This was what he hadn’t wanted to happen, taking attention from honoring Lancelot and Guinevere.

“I’m sure you will,” Gawain smiled encouragingly, resting a hand lightly on Tristan’s shoulder, “You can come sit over here.”

Gawain and Galahad led the way to a crude bench where Tristan sat with a heavy sigh. He saw Arthur watching him and he sent a nod in the man’s direction. Arthur’s lips twitched into a half smile for only a moment and Tristan saw a brief flicker of gratitude in his eyes. Tristan sat quietly during the somber event. Arthur said some words about both Lancelot and Guinevere, but Tristan was hardly listening. He was restless, unable to sit completely still. 

The more time that passed, the more Tristan felt that it should have been him in that grave, not Lancelot. As annoying as the man had been in many ways, he should have lived, Guinevere, too for that matter. Tristan frowned. He deserved death. He enjoyed killing, the thrill of battle, the feeling of steel in his hand as he cut down an enemy. He loved it too much, but Lance… the man had been an idealist, though he’d never have admitted it to anyone, and he deserved better than this.

“What’s wrong?” Nova asked softly.

Tristan shook his head, “It should be me there. Not either of them.”

Nova took his hand, squeezing it gently, “Stop thinking like that. This is what Fate decided, don’t question it.”

He smiled slightly at her, turning his attention back to where Merlin and other Woads stood chanting as Arthur lit the funeral pyres. The crowd began to disperse after the fires had been going for a little while and Tristan remained with Nova, watching the flames. Soon it was only Arthur, the remaining Knights and Merlin left. Tristan moved to stand as Arthur approached him.

“Sit, Tristan,” Arthur told him quietly.

“I’m so sorry, Arthur,” Tristan offered, “I wish this had ended differently.”

“I know you are no stranger to death,” Arthur replied, “You understand more than anyone else here.”

Tristan looked away, unable to maintain eye contact with the other man. Arthur was right, but that didn’t make him feel any better.

“Do not blame yourself for this, Tristan,” Arthur said, “This was out of your control.”

Tristan’s head snapped up, as he stared at Arthur.

The man was smiling, “I’m grateful to God that you are alive. You should be as well.”

“I am.”

With a nod, Arthur walked away from them, off down the hill. The other Knights followed, leaving Tristan and Nova alone.

“Do you want to go back now?” Nova asked.

“Yes, but I need to say goodbye first.”

She nodded, helping him to his feet and walking with him to the smoldering pyres. He went down on one knee next to Lancelot’s twin swords in the earth, resting a hand on one of the hilts.

“I’m sorry, Lance,” Tristan murmured, “Be at peace, brother.”

After a long moment kneeling there, he struggled to stand, nearly losing his balance as Nova stepped up next to him again.

“Let’s go back,” he told her, “I’m starving.”

She laughed lightly, eyes sparkling, “Of course you are.”

They took their time walking back, Tristan having to stop several times to rest. He didn’t want to admit that he was weak, still needing to heal from his numerous wounds, but he knew that Nova knew already, although she didn’t comment. Arriving at the tavern, they sat at the end of one of the long tables. The other Knights were already there amongst a dozen or so villagers, drinking and, as Bors put it, “celebrating the life of our fallen brother.”

Tristan focused on his food, slowly eating with his left hand. This was another thing he’d have to learn. He was right-handed, but with the wound to his right forearm and the other to the muscles in his underarm, he didn’t know if he’d ever get full use of it back. Luckily the injuries to his left arm were more superficial. In the meantime, he glared at the food that didn’t want to cooperate. A tug on his coat on his blind side startled him and he looked over.

“You’ll get better at it,” Lucan smiled up at him, “You just have to be patient.”

He couldn’t help but smile back at the boy, “Thank you, Lucan. You want to sit here?”

The boy nodded eagerly, clambering up onto the bench next to Tristan. The Scout moved the platter of food closer to Lucan, smiling to himself as the boy dug right in.

“Have you given any thought to what you might do now, Tristan?” Nova asked.

He shrugged, taking a bite of bread. “Not really.”

“Tristan, sir?” A young voice caught the Scout’s attention.

Tristan turned to see Bors’ oldest son, Gilly, standing nearby. “What is it?”

Gilly cleared his throat, “Da doesn’t want me to, but I want to learn to fight like you.”

“Fight? Like me?” Tristan blinked. “Wh-What do you mean?”

“Da is all fists and Uncle Dagonet doesn’t fight unless he has to,” Gilly stepped up closer, straddling the bench on the other side of Lucan, “I’ve seen you train by yourself. I want to fight like you.”

Tristan watched the boy for a moment, a slow smile taking over his face. He liked this idea. “What about you, Lucan?” He asked the other boy.

Lucan barely glanced up from his food, nodding, “I want to learn, too, but I like the way Gawain fights better.”

Tristan chuckled, “Alright. Gawain!”

The Knight in question popped his head up from the crowd of drunk men.

Tristan waved him over. “Gilly and Lucan gave me an idea.”

Gawain joined them on the bench, “Yeah, what’s that?”

“Gilly here wants to learn to fight like me,” Tristan explained, “While Lucan would like to learn to fight like you. What would you say to training them, together?”

Gawain sat in silence for a moment, then nodded, smiling. “I like that idea.”

Gilly and Lucan looked at each other, grinning.

“Sounds like you’ll have your hands full,” Nova spoke up, winking at Tristan.

He smiled back at her, reaching over to take her hand in his. “I’m up for a new challenge.”

.~~~~~~~.

“Tristan?” Nova’s voice echoed in the early morning air.

Tristan turned slightly from where he stood atop the Wall. She smiled as she approached.

“I thought I might find you up here.”

He returned her smile with one of his own, kissing her cheek. “Does Gawain need me down there already?”

Nova shook her head, “Not just yet. Another young man arrived late last night. I believe Dagonet said his name was Caradoc. He wants a place at the Table.”

Tristan chuckled, shaking his head slightly, “That makes seven new ones now.”

“And, so far only one has proven himself.”

Tristan nodded, “That’s only because he and Gawain share the same blood.”

“It’s not just the blood,” Nova replied, “Gareth is a good fighter and a good man on his own. And he passed all of the trials.”

“Still,” Tristan responded, “Being Gawain’s brother helped.”

Nova laughed lightly, “Come on, it’s almost time to start today’s training. Are you ready?”

“As ready as I’m going to be, I suppose.” Tristan took her hand, walking with her down the steps and toward the inner field. 

A section of the field had been roped off and inside it stood Bors, Dagonet, Gawain, Galahad, Gareth and half a dozen other men ranging in age from about fifteen to their late thirties. Tristan gave Nova a quick kiss, leaving her on the outside of the rope as he ducked under it, joining the other Knights. He nodded to Gawain.

“All right,” Gawain addressed the group of men, his voice carrying in the open area, “Welcome to the Wall. You all have come to prove yourselves worthy enough to take a seat at Arthur’s Round Table. We are here to try and to test you, to ensure that you are indeed a good fit here. Some of you have been here for some time already, while others of you have just arrived. Tristan?”

Gawain motioned to the Scout who stepped forward.

“You think you have what it takes to protect Britain? You think you are smart enough? Brave enough? You’re wrong.” The men murmured amongst themselves, but Tristan continued, “We will train you, yes, but only after we have broken you. We will find your greatest weakness and exploit it until it becomes your greatest strength. Percival, you will train with Dagonet. Lamorak with Bors. Bedivere with Galahad. Kay with Gawain. Ector with Gareth. And you, boy, what’s your name?”

The young man Tristan pointed at cleared his throat, muttering something unintelligible.

“Speak up, boy!” Bors yelled.

“My name is Caradoc,” the youth’s voice quivered slightly.

Tristan nodded, “Caradoc, you will train with me.” He turned his attention back to the rest of the group, “Remember, while you may be fighting, tracking, whatever you do, you must always be courteous to those around you. Lucan will explain.”

Young Lucan stood straight, his face serious. “All people here are equal. Respect everyone and it will be noticed. As will the disrespect of anyone. Any of you who show signs of disrespect or disloyalty will have an audience with Arthur where he will determine the proper way to deal with your actions.”

Tristan flashed the boy a quick smile, before clearing his throat to speak again, “While you all are training, Nova here,” he motioned to where she stood, “Will be watching, finding your weaknesses in any given trial. Not to necessarily make us be able to beat you more easily, but to make yourselves learn from your mistakes and become better,” he paused, glancing at Nova who winked at him, “And, trust me, you want to listen to what she says.”

The other Knights chuckled.

“Let’s begin!” Gawain said.

The trainees paired off with each Knight until only Caradoc stood in front of Tristan, silently staring at the ground.

“Why are you here, boy?” Tristan asked quietly.

Caradoc shrugged, barely glancing up at the Scout before quickly looking away again.

“If you don’t have an answer, leave,” Tristan told him.

The youth’s head snapped up and he straightened instantly. “No, sir.”

Tristan raised an eyebrow, arms crossed over his chest. “Give me an answer, then.”

“I-I want to be better,” Caradoc began, “I want you, all of you, to teach me everything. Not only to be a better warrior, but a better man. I want to protect. That is my life’s purpose.”

Tristan nodded. He already liked this boy. Although Caradoc could obviously use a lot of training, Tristan saw potential in the younger man. There was a ferocity in Caradoc’s eyes that he recognized.

“Do you have any skill with a blade?” Tristan inquired.

Caradoc blanched, but nodded, “Quite a bit.”

“Any other weapons?”

Caradoc shook his head.

Tristan caught movement out of the corner of his eye just then. He turned, seeing Arthur standing next to Nova. She looked serious and Tristan frowned.

“Gilly,” Tristan called to the boy.

Bors’ son stepped forward from where he had been talking quietly to Lucan.

“Take Caradoc to the stables,” Tristan instructed, “Tell Jols to start with Lesson One until he hears from me personally.”

Gilly nodded, looking up at Caradoc. “Follow me.”

Caradoc stood for a moment, mouth open slightly in surprise, then shook his head and followed the younger boy off. With a sigh, Tristan approached the rope where Nova and Arthur stood, ducking underneath to join them on the other side.

“Tristan,” Arthur greeted him and he nodded in response.

“They look promising,” Arthur commented, “I do hope that none of you go easy on Ector, even if he is an old friend of my father’s.”

Tristan smiled briefly, “We don’t go easy on anyone.”

Arthur nodded, standing silent for a moment, “You’ve come a long way these past months, Tristan,” he looked directly at the Scout, admiration in his eyes, “The men all look up to you. You are an excellent example of persevering through harsh odds.”

Tristan shrugged, but said nothing.

“I have a job for you,” Arthur said, “If you’re up to the task.”

“Of course,” Tristan responded instantly.

“There is a Frankish emissary arriving on the Southern coast in a day or two. You need to meet him and escort him here. Take whomever you need with you. I’ll take over the new trainees for you while you’re gone.”

Tristan nodded, “I can leave within the hour.”

“Perfect,” Arthur smiled, “Thank you, Tristan. God be with you.”

Arthur ducked under the rope, joining the Knights in the field and leaving Tristan and Nova alone.

“Are you up for an adventure?” Tristan asked her quietly, after a moment of silence.

Nova smiled, “I thought you’d never ask.”

Her hand slid into his as they headed off to prepare for their journey.


End file.
